Blood, Sweat, and Gears
by BallinBlonde21
Summary: AH/AU Jace is a professional sno-x racer. Clary is a profession sno-x fan. What happens when they meet? What happens when Jace's greatest rival turns out to be Clary's boyfriend? Angst, Drama, and Lust are key components of this story. M for Lemons and Language I do not own Jace or Clary or TMI...sadly
1. Chapter 1

_A new story I'm trying, something I can go to when I lack inspiration, since I always seem to be thinking of this. If you don't know what snocross is, I suggest you look it up. It is amazing. My boyfriend races it, and it's, like, the coolest thing ever. (typical teenage girl voice) But seriously...go look up some ISOC races or X-Game races. I just can't get enough. If you don't understand the lingo, I can help you with that, too. Okay...so anyways...enjoy this first chapter! :)_

* * *

The snowy air was filled with the sound of a thousand purring engines, creating an atmosphere that belong more to a cage full of feral lions than a winter wonderland. Above the roaring, words could be heard, shouts between riders and mechanics, cheers of delight and cries of horror, children giggling from their little 120 snowmobiles, their helmets making their heads look entirely too big for their little bodies, their tiny legs bent at strange angles to accommodate for the sled beneath them. Fathers chased after them, holding pieces of gear they've forgotten or screaming at them to slow down. Not that those sleds actually went quickly enough to hurt someone, but still.

The sun blazed down proudly from between several gray clouds in the December sky, not quite hot enough to melt the snowflakes as they drifted lazily to the ground, but still warm enough to drive out most of the chill. The fields stretched endlessly around the track, filled to the max with race trailers and RVs and cars. Several trees rose proudly from the ground, a strange sight among these flatlands. Their barren branches twisted toward the sky, knotting and entangling with each other, eagerly trying to reach the only heat source they'd find in the dead of winter as they desperately clung to the leafy thoughts of summer. The temperatures were zero degrees at most, the roads iced over, ponds thick enough to walk on. Winter had sunken its claws into Wisconsin and was not planning on releasing its hold until late April.

Jace laughed as a small racer stumbled by, bundled up in way too much orange to even walk a straight line as his desperate mother chased him with a scarf, muttering something about frostbite that was lost in the noise of the machines. _MILF, _he mouthed at Alec who shook his head, somehow telling Jace that he was an idiot with motion. Jace's laugh was breathy, the white smoke of his breath curled into the air, rising higher and higher until dispersing into oblivion, becoming another part of the watery blue sky. He flexed his fingers as he shoved them into his gloves, wearing nothing but his black Under Armour at the moment. He waggled golden his eyebrows at a couple of girls that walked by, who immediately giggled and buried their faces in humiliation. Jace turned his back to them and shook his hips a bit as he strapped into his TekVest, earning another round of appreciative giggles. He smirked. God, he loved this.

He loved winter. Everything about it was absolutely amazing. The freedom from the hayfields, the ease of drifting his prized white Duramax on snowy corners, the way undressing the layers of a girl felt like unwrapping a present—it all added up to nothing less than the best time of the year. Jace couldn't lie though, even if he drove a Buick beater and girls became extinct, he would still be completely enthralled with these snow-covered fields and the biting wind. It only takes one word to make him completely fall in love, one word to drive him entirely insane—snocross. Snocross was the exact reason he was able to stand the heatless days, the windburn on his cheeks, and the numbness of his toes. It was the answer to everything. You're angry? Race snocross. You're forever alone? Chicks dig snocross. You're crying because someone called you a pansy? Pick your bitch ass up and race snocross. Snocross was the perfect mixture of clunky machinery and grace, the harmonic motion of skis traveling nearly untraceably across the snow, the ideal blend of danger and excitement. He would put up with frostbite for that reason alone.

And being there now, right in the moment of preparing for a race, was the ultimately the best feeling ever. The thoughts of the screams of thousands of cheering fans standing to watch, hoping that everyone was safe but secretly wishing to feel the thrill of a hard crash overtook his brain, morphing until they were screaming for him as his sled glided elegantly across the built up mounds of snow, soaring over the tabletop for the win. He couldn't help the smirked that appeared on his lips as he thought of his beloved Polaris, the machine he'd spent so many grueling hours perfecting, enhancing, molding it to be his perfect match, more like an extension of himself rather than an object he'd hopped onto.

He inhaled heavily, pressing his earphones tightly into his ears, nodding his head to the heavy rhythms of Godsmack, the adrenalin already beginning to pump through his veins. The sweet scent of race fuel was overwhelming, but amazing. It was comforting, intoxicating, making his stomach jump in anticipation. He lived for this. The risk, the exhilaration, the glory—he loved every part of it.

His golden gaze scanned the expanse once more, the rows of trailers, doors dropped as people unloaded a slew of green Arctic Cats, tons of Polarises, and only a few Skidoos, a small child with a Mohawk on his helmet bobbled up to him, extending his hand for a high five which he gladly gave. "Momma! Jace Herondale gave me a high five!" he squealed as if Jace was the biggest celebrity in the world. Well, in means of Sno-X, he probably was. His eyes trailed the snow bunnies as they sashayed from one man to another, wearing too few of clothes for how cold it was. He might have to sink his teeth into one now, so he could get a victory lap dance later. He saw racers brushing snow off their foot holds while others guided their sleds onto the track for a practice run, curses ringing out when something went wrong. Jace chuckled as an IQ tumbled off the side of the whoops, the kid, probably only twelve or thirteen banged his fist against the powdery snow as his father all but dragged him back onto the seat.

Jace's eyes finally landed on his brother, who jumped up and down on Jace's sled to check the shocks. When Alec caught his gaze, Jace jerked his chin. _I'm ready_, it said. And he was. After yanking on a pair of snow pants, he slid his arms into the sleeves of his race coat, an orange FXR number with his last name stitched across the shoulders, his race number written proudly beneath it in a bold black font. Maybe it was a shame that he wore his race number more proudly than his last name, but to him, it would never be the other way around. Herondale wasn't exactly a name to be proud of. 464, now that was something he'd earned, popularized and glorified through broken bones and close victories. That was something that was entirely his and couldn't be ruined by someone like his father. He pulled the zipper up to his neck brace and rolled his shoulders, popping his joints into place.

Snow crunched beneath his feet as he moved toward Alec, his gaze tracing the track, memorizing the whoops and turns, mentally calculating the speed he'd need to go to clear the tabletop. He licked his wind-chapped lips. This was going to be a piece of cake. A punch of the throttle here, a yank of the handlebars there, and he'd be soaring through the finish, no one in his wake. Alec pressed an orange helmet into Jace's hands, a solemn look on his face. "Sebastian showed up today," he stated simply, though Jace could hear the strain in his voice. Verlac, Jace should have known he couldn't race some of this small town shit without that bucktoothed bastard trying to connive his way into the spotlight. "He might try to pull some cheap shots." Alec worried about Jace, maybe too much, and Jace couldn't understand why. Jace wasn't concerned about anything. It would just be a couple broken bones, maybe a severed finger or two, but for that moment of fame when he crossed the finish line before anyone else, it was worth it. They could always reset his bones and stitch the finger back into place. It's not like there was a shortage of ice to put it on.

Jace clapped his brother on his shoulder as if to comfort him, to tell him that even if he was run over by the spiked track of his mortal enemy's sled it would all be okay. He slid into his helmet, his gloved hands fumbling with the strap for a moment before finally getting it hooked. Jace slipped his goggles into place, the blinding snow finally at a tolerable brightness. He threw one leg over his machine and started it up, smirking at the way it purred beneath him, the smooth way it accelerated with the slightest pressure of his thumb, his handiwork finally paying off. Alec tapped him on the helmet and pointed him into the direction of the pits, not that Jace needed that. He could follow Sebastian's hideously green Arctic Cat all the way there. No, Jace did not thing Arctic Cats were hideous, he actually really liked the green color they came in. But that wrap that Sebastian had damned his sled with…it was something else entirely. The puke green color with his meager amount of sponsors barely covering half of it made Jace want to vomit simply to make it a better hue. He pulled his sled to a stop in the pits next to Sebastian, waiting for the ill-prepared insults to start flying.

"Hey, Herondamsel." And there it was, the first cannonball. Good thing it was a dud. Jace didn't even think that comment deserved a response, so instead, he revved his sled, as he pulled forward a bit, nearly coming undone at the sexy purring noises it made. He fucking loved his sled. He would make love to his sled if he could. But that might damage some parts of him that he's become rather fond of, so he would just settle for fucking someone on his sled. He felt Sebastian's presence return to his side before the damn kid even spoke. "Still racing that old Polaris, eh? Daddy's dirty money can't buy you better?" Jace's fists clenched and unclenched around his grips, the motion only slightly restrained by the gloves he was wearing. His father's occupation was well known among the racing community, but Jace had scared most of them out of bringing it up. His father's choices didn't define him, and he wasn't going to let Sebastian think so.

"Guess I'm not daddy's little princess the way you are," he retorted, his words muffled a little by his helmet. His eyes were slits behind his goggles, but Sebastian was lucky that they were tinted, and Jace's harsh stare had no effect on the boy.

"Maybe you're just jealous that my dad buys me nice things and doesn't kick me out into the street." Jace let that one roll right off him. Yeah, that was also a known fact. He'd been an orphan at the age of ten, kicked out by his own father reasons that no one would ever know. Those kind of insults didn't get to him. Because of that, he'd ended up with the Lightwoods, who provided him with more than his asshole father ever had.

"The only thing worse than these insults is your race game." Jace chuckled deeply at the way Sebastian's body tensed, every muscle looking as if he were about to spring at Jace, to try to knock him off his sled and pummel him. Verlac had tried that several times before, only succeeding in broken bones of his own.

"Why don't you just sit your pretty ass on that seat, Rapunzel, and let the finish line do the talking."

Jace's smirk was hidden behind his helmet as he brought his hand to his chest, pretending to be flattered. "Why, Sebastian, did you just call me pretty?" His prize was a grunt of frustration as they were waved to line up at the start line. Jace's finger hovered over the throttle, his thumb itching to press down and give it hell, but he had to wait. The worker adjusted a few of the sleds that had slid up too far, and Jace looked out into the crowd. The small stands were packed, as was the area surrounding it. Standing room only. He wouldn't expect anything less. They were the pros after all. And not often did enough of them show up at a small gig to race.

Jace's eyes became trained on the light as the worker ran off to the side, collecting his flags.

The red light illuminated on the top. Jace's breathing sped up, his heart began to race. God, if he could find a girl to do things to him the way Sno-X did, he'd be a goner.

The yellow ticked on. Jace's finger ghosted over his throttle, ready to pounce as soon as the light turned—

Green. There was a deafening amount of sound as Jace's sled lurched forward, barely even touching the snow as he successfully obtained the holeshot. It was smooth sailing from here. He maneuvered his sled expertly around an s-corner, made slightly treacherous by the races before. There was a roar from the crowd as he expertly tripled the whoops. Yanking his sled to the side in a whip earned him another cheer. The turn was executed perfectly, leaving him with a big enough lead that he didn't even have to jump the tabletop. But he did. And, boy, were the cheers like music to his ears. "Jace, Jace, Jace!" they chanted as he finished the rest of his laps. A few other cheers were shouted, along with screams and claps, before banding together once more. "Flip, flip, flip!" The screamed, and Jace, ever the crowd pleaser, felt his skis become airborne as he pulled his sled into a back flip, landing on the other side of the finish line. He stood up as he steered to get his trophy, lifting it triumphantly into the air without a nary look at Sebastian kicking his shiny new Arctic Cat. His rivalry didn't matter. His father situation didn't matter. All that didn't matter because right now, he was so much more. He stood up on his seat and thrust his fist into the air, his punch met with a thousand cheers. Right now, he was a god.

* * *

"I'm just saying, you guys, that we get too much instant gratification these days. We don't have to work for anything so we never feel accomplished. Like, when we microwave frozen dinners, we didn't have to prepare that meal, or when we make a sandwich, we didn't bake the bread or even slice it, or when—"

"For God's sake, Simon, next you're going to say we shouldn't drink milk because we didn't birth the damn cow," Isabelle cut him off as she brushed her hair out for the tenth time. She'd been doing this all morning. Brush hair, put on hat, frown at reflection, throw hat across room, repeat. Simon dropped his shoulders, looking to Clary for back up.

Clary shrugged. "I'd have to agree, Si."

He opened his mouth, looking offended, but Isabelle wouldn't let him get a word in. "Yeah, ever since you failed your philosophy exam, you've been spouting this stuff like some damn philosophical fountain." Clary nodded, returning to the magazine Isabelle had given her to read, well, not so much read as appreciate the artistic symmetry most models seemed to possess. "Does this hat make my head look fat?" Isabelle's face turned toward Clary with a pout.

Simon scrubbed his hands down his face, leaning back on Izzy's bed in the girls' apartment. "I need more guy friends." This earned a laugh from the girls as Clary said that no, the hat did not, in fact, make Isabelle's head look fat. Nothing could make that girl look fat. She was long and lean, perfectly proportioned, like one of these models in this magazine.

"Oh, Simon," Isabelle was saying as she patted the knitted cap on her head, "there will be plenty of dudes around today." She looked to Clary for confirmation.

"Of course, Simon. They'll all be eagerly awaiting to spark a friendship with you. With all that friendly energy that just seems to radiates off you," she added at his scowl. Goodness, if he hadn't been her best friend since grade school, she'd probably have never even talked to him. He just looked so…so…bitter.

Simon exasperatedly pushed his glasses back up as they slipped down his nose for the third time since this conversation started. "Can't I just stay here and play World of Warcraft?" he whined, his chocolate brown eyes pleaded from behind his magnifying lenses, making his eyes seem bigger that they were. His brown hair fell onto his forehead, unkempt and messy. His t-shirt was too big for his scrawny frame and read _I found Jesus. He was behind the couch_. Which was funnier to Clary because Simon was Jewish. He continued to look at Clary, his lower lip puckering out a bit. He looked like a lost puppy—

"No," Isabelle barked, threading the long black tendrils she called hair into a messy side braid. "Clary asked us to come with her." She looked to Clary and nodded, letting the rope of hair land with a thunk against her shoulder as she began to smudge some eyeliner. Goodness, this girl would stop to fix her appearance if the boat she was on was sinking. Granted, she would probably be on a private yacht, and hundreds of people would be vying to help her.

Simon crossed his arms in frustration, his nose wrinkling in defeat as he leaned back against the blue walls. Isabelle's room reminded Clary of an ocean, adorned with jars of sand and scented candles and hundreds of seashells. Except Clary seriously hoped that beaches didn't have half of Isabelle's wardrobe scattered across the floor, hanging on the backs of chairs, balled up on the bed—

"Let's go!" Isabelle chirped, pulling Clary from her examination of Isabelle's messy room. She was sliding her long arms into a black parka and wrapping a colorful scarf around her neck. She looked like she was going to a magazine shoot for winter fashion. She reached beneath Clary's chair to grab her furry boots and shoved her dark skinnies into them. "Are you even ready?" she accused, as Clary pulled on a hoodie and stuck her arms through her beat-up Carhart.

"Yeah, we were ready eight years ago," Simon grumbled, pulling on his own jacket and bomber cap. Clary laughed lightly as she smoothed her wild curls and yanked her flower hat over them. It was green, like her eyes, knitted with love by her mother. She smiled lightly at the thought of her mother, wondering if she was going to be there today with Jonathon.

"Come on, Pippi," Isabelle chided as Clary stuffed her phone and keys into her pockets. "We are going to be late."

They piled into Isabelle's Tahoe, which Simon had so endearingly named "Death Trap." _Don't take too much offense," _he'd said as he patted the car's dashboard adoringly. _It's only because your owner is a scary driver_. Isabelle had nearly thrown them into the ditch when she'd reached over to punch Simon.

Clary rested her head against the window as Simon thumbed through his phone, looking for the right kind of music to play. "You better not be playing _The Lord of the Rings_ soundtrack again," Isabelle grumbled as the car lurched forward, merging jerkily onto the highway. Isabelle was the kind of driver that could be heard about on the news, driving the wrong way on the Interstate, causing pile-ups in perfect driving conditions, rear-ending semis. Thankfully, they lived in a small area which posed fewer threats to their lives when Izzy decided she would drive.

"Fuck you, Bambi!" she was currently shouting as the slammed on the brakes. Clary's body was thrown forward, caught by the locks of the seatbelt as the deer's life was narrowly spared. "I should run you over just because you were an idiot," she yelled out her opened window as the deer darted between the trees. A few afternoon walkers, bundled up in hats and parkas, stared at Isabelle with frightful and wary expressions. Simon reached over and rolled up Isabelle's window, looking at the pedestrians with a small smile and a wave before glowering at Izzy.

"I'm beginning to think that you're the reason I have no friends." Isabelle rolled her eyes.

"Simon, I'm the reason you have a social life at all." Simon slouched back in his seat, resuming his previous occupation of DJ-ing the Death Trap. Isabelle's phone dinged, and Simon lunged for it before Isabelle could even lift a finger. Isabelle could barely drive with hands a ten and two and both eyes on the road. There was no way she could do it with a cell phone in her hand.

"Max wants to come," Simon said as he began to type a response, his thumbs moving with the quick grace only gamers must possess.

"Tell him to wait at the end of the driveway, and we'll pick him up." Clary groaned inwardly. Max was Isabelle's younger brother. _I'm not young_, she could almost hear his voice complaining in her head. _I'm old enough to treat you right_. She imagined his dark eye dropping in a wink. He had the biggest crush on her, and sometimes, things turned creepy. She zipped her coat up a little higher and tugged at her jeans to make them looser around her thighs. "Oh my gosh, Clary, calm down. It's not like he's going to rape you in the backseat or something," Isabelle laughed, knowing Clary's exact thoughts.

"No, but he might try." Isabelle and Simon laughed as Clary continued to futz with her appearance, hoping to look as terrible as possible. Isabelle flicked her blinker on to park on the side of the road by her driveway.

"Drive, bitch," Max cried as he hopped into the backseat. He winked at Clary as he clicked on his seatbelt.

"That is no way to talk to your sister," Isabelle reprimanded, earning a signature Lightwood eye roll in response. "Max!" Isabelle cried, her eyes watching her brother's hands in the rearview mirror as they reached for Clary's leg. Clary looked at him harshly as he retracted his hand, only an impish smirk on his face. That kid…

Clary returned to looking out the window as Simon read monotonously read directions to Izzy. "Clary, you're looking fiiiiine," she heard Max whisper only loud enough for them to hear. It was followed by a low whistle, the sound sending chills up her spine.

"I'm a little old for you," she replied without looking at him. He used to be so cute. Back when his dark eyes had glasses in front of them and his hair fell in front of them and his nose was buried in a book. Back when he seemed to be a little Simon. Clary had only known Isabelle after both of them had graduated from high school. They'd roomed together all through college, and now, recently graduated, they shared a small apartment downtown. Apparently, Isabelle had three brothers, but Clary had only ever met Max. Clary had been to the Lightwood house plenty of times, but never had she met this illusive Alec, who apparently was three years older than them and barely ever came home because he was too busy babysitting Isabelle's other brother. What was his name? Jack? Jason? She couldn't even remember.

Clary didn't even feel the car transition into park until Max's door slammed, and he ran off into the distance. Clary unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out, surprised by the masses of people that had left their cozy homes on this chilly winter day to watch a couple of egotistical professionals race their extremely expensive snowmobiles across a bunch of snow that was hauled in by dump trucks specifically for that reason. Clary handed some money to the ticket booth and stuck her ticket onto the special hook they gave her for her zipper. Yep, she knew the drill. Isabelle and Simon had stopped to chat with some people she'd never met, so she just decided to continue on. They'd know where to find her anyway.

Finding Sebastian's trailer wasn't hard at all. It was the biggest, most expensive one there, with loud music blaring through the outdoor speakers. A huge black F-250 parked was parked in front of it, with plates that read SPEED. She was more of a Chevy girl, but she'd never tell Seb that. Her boots crunched in the snow as she walked to the trailer's door. She yanked it open with her gloved fingers and waltzed in without knocking.

"—fucking Herondale!" she heard as she stepped through, wincing as Sebastian's helmet clattered against the floor with a loud bang. "Oh, hey, babe," he greeted as his dark, angry eyes landed on her figure. He looked her up and down rather uncomfortably before shrugging returning to his rampage. Clary, slightly offended by Sebastian's lack of attention, looked at the other man in there; the one Sebastian was aiming most of his rant at. He was some faceless person that Sebastian's dad had hired to help him during races. Sebastian's dad bought him everything. She was fairly certain Sebastian's father had purchased the diamond pendant that hung in the valley of her breasts. It was pretty, sure, but it would have meant more had Sebastian worked for it and earned it for her. "I can't believe he thinks he can butt into my local tour. DAMMIT!" He hollered as he sent a wrench across the room. It would have skimmed Clary's cheek had she not moved her head. Sebastian apologize or even say anything to comfort her as she shook with a little bit of fright. He just stared at her blankly until she shifted awkwardly.

"Johnny's here," she said finally as she opened the door. Sebastian gave her a look that said _why the fuck do I care_. Clary refrained from rolling her eyes. It would only make things worse. "I'm going to go see him."

She wasn't at all surprised that Sebastian didn't follow her out of the trailer. He never did. He could be a sweet guy sometimes, but race days were not included in those times. He was bitter and rude and angry. He would barely even talk to her, and if he lost, hell was sure to be paid, usually in the price of Clary's body, banged up against the trailer wall as his mouth was savage against hers. Not that she was really complaining, but she kind of was. Sometimes he left bruises on her skin, but it was just because he'd been holding her too tightly in his frustration. They'd been together for almost four years and she loved him, every part of him, and if she wanted the good she had to accept the bad…right?

She found the trailer that had Morgenstern sharpie-ed across the back door in the inelegant scrawl of a five-year-old boy. "Clary!" Jonathon yelled as he ran to her, his snowpants making it hard for him to move. Clary giggled, ruffling his white-blonde hair a little as he wrapped his tiny arms around her legs. Clary was almost nineteen years older than him, but she still loved him unconditionally. People always commented how strange it was that Clary had a brother that she could have practically birthed herself, but she usually shrugged it off. Johnny was the miracle her parents thought would never arrive. He looked up at her with the dark eyes of their father, though his had a glint of mischief whereas Valentine's held the stern look of a father.

"Where's dad?" she asked as Jocelyn approached, her hair parted into two braids, a small headband protecting her ears from the cold. She leaned down as she tugged a neck warmer over a protesting Jonathon's head.

"He went to check this kid in." Jonathon stuck his tongue out playfully, and his mom pulled his helmet down over it. "I wasn't sure you'd come to one of these." Jocelyn tried to play it off by busying herself with zipping up her coat, but it was obvious that she really meant it. Clary hadn't been visiting home a lot. She'd just been so preoccupied with selling her art and entering it for a chance to get into shows, she barely had any time.

"Well, Sebastian is here…" she saw her mother's eyes flash. It wasn't a secret that Sebastian was not liked by the Morgenstern family. Her father had all but kicked him out when she'd brought him home for Thanksgiving. "And I couldn't miss Johnny tearing up the track out there, now could I?" Clary tucked a rogue curl into her cap to keep it out of her eyes. Jocelyn nodded, but didn't say another word until Jonathon took off running.

"Jon?" she called after him worriedly, though he stopped only a few meters away so she quieted and looked to see what he was doing. He climbed the ramp to get inside a trailer across from them, his little hand reaching up toward a figure dressed entirely in black.

Clary's breath hitched in her throat, her fingers tingling as they reached for a sketchpad that wasn't there. Her enthrallment with the models in the magazine seemed silly now as she stared at the man in front of Johnny. His hair was golden, the color of the sun as he shook it out, unruly curls only adding to the effect. His muscles flexed beneath his tight shirt as he reached a large hand out to slap Jonathon's. His eyes were the color of molten gold as they scanned the crowd around him, skipping easily over her, since she was nothing spectacular. He jaw was square, features like those of a statue, hard and perfect. She could tell he was sculpted, even across the distance between them. God, he was perfect.

"Momma, Jace Herondale gave me a high five!" Clary snapped out of her reverie as Jonathon returned, jumping up and down with glee. Jocelyn smiled and patted his helmet. Whatever he said next was too muffled for her to hear. That perfectly created man was the conceited asshole that always beat Sebastian out on the track. She felt like she should have known, but with their gear and helmets on, she could barely tell who Sebastian was.

She felt a hand tugging at her jeans and she looked down. "I have to race now," Jonathon told her, shouting a little too loudly to make sure she could hear.

"Okay, I'll watch you," she said, zipping up his coat and patting his head as he zoomed by on his tiny snowmobile. She nodded at her mom and walked to the stands, where she found a spot next to Izzy and Simon. They were the only ones cheering as the 120s went around the track, slow enough that Clary could actually keep track of where her brother was, his orange Mohawk flapping in the breeze. She gasped when his little body tumbled off the sled, but giggled at the sight of him running after it, several men with flags eager to help him. In the end, Jonathon came in fifth, but Clary and her friends cheered loudly anyway. She saw her brother pump his little fist as he rode back to their father, who engulfed him in a big hug. Clary sighed contentedly, remembering her childhood, when that was her barreling through the snow into her father's arms, her pink sled completely abandoned in the pits.

Yes, Clarissa Adele Morgenstern raced snocross. Not extremely well, but she'd taken home a few firsts before ending her career after high school. Of course, she only raced local circuits, so not much could be said for her actual skill. Valentine always wanted his daughter to break the stereotypes set by society, and what better way to do that then to get his daughter involved in a motorsport. Originally he'd tried her in motocross, but she could barely stand on her two feet, let alone balance a powerful engine on two wheels. "Here, I got you some cocoa," Simon said as he placed a steaming cup into her hands. She hadn't even realized he'd left.

"Thanks." She lifted it to her lips, the first sip burning her tongue a little, but after that she welcomed the heat. She hadn't realized she was shivering until the warm liquid began to thaw her insides. She leaned back against Isabelle's knees, watching several other races happen, the sun slowly sinking below the horizon, taking with it the last shred of warmth offered in the winter. She was shivering again by the time the track's lights were turned on. She felt a tap on her shoulder as Isabelle pointed to the large sleds lining up.

"The pros are about to start," Isabelle said, her eyes oddly focused on one racer in particular. Clary stared at him, trying to place who exactly it was. It obviously wasn't Sebastian, who rode the only green Arctic Cat on the track. This guy seemed tall, taller than the guys around him at least. His body was positioned over a sled plastered with decals and sponsors. The slivers of red poking out between the stickers indicated to Clary that it was a Polaris. She shrugged, giving up trying to figure out who it was. Must just be some hot guy she'd met or something. For all the complaining she did about coming here, she seemed to be enjoying herself. There was a thunderous roar as the sleds took off, more noise coming from the crowd than from the actual snowmobiles. Clary could almost hear Sebastian's voice cursing in her head as the one of Isabelle's interest earned the holeshot and easily overtook Sebastian. This wasn't going to be a pretty night. She watched the leader, finding it hard to focus on her boyfriend who was so far behind. The mystery racer's sled soared through the air at every jump, his body in one with the machine. It seemed like the sled moved with him rather than the other way around. It was so synchronized, so automatic the way he moved, more like a graceful dance than blood, flesh, and gears. Hey, that was a good one. She'd have to tell Sebastian. Her eyes found her boyfriend, still in second place but a far cry from the leader. She could almost feel her lips swelling at the mere thought of the night.

Then, as the leader neared the finish line, the crowd was chanting for a flip, and Clary gasped as the boy spun upside down, somehow landing perfectly balanced on his sled. Isabelle stood up and screamed as the trophy was claimed. A helmet was torn off and blond locks shaken out. Clary silenced immediately. Jace Herondale had won. And she had cheered for him. Tonight was definitely not going to be pretty.

* * *

_Did you watch any sno-x races? *stern look of disapproval* Go watch them...now! Haha but not before reviewing! Tell me what you think ;)_

_All My Love_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hmmm...update! So, if you didn't google/yahoo/bing/orwhateveryousearchwith snocross, then here's a link to a YouTube video that gives you just a little taste of what it's actually like:_

watch?v=s2sX4KSiCq0

_put youtube in front of it...without the spaces..._

_Please watch it. One of the pros does a back flip, and you can pretend it's Jace._

_Okay, my lovelies...read on._

* * *

"Thanks for coming back, Iz," Clary breathed as she heaved her aching body into passenger seat of the Tahoe. The car's interior lights were a blazing white, only worsening the dull throbbing in Clary's skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that Isabelle would just drive and that the night would end. More than anything she just wanted to curl up in her bed and sleep until noon. Since the universe didn't work that way, the car remained firmly in park while Isabelle's dark eyes shifted toward Clary's hunched form. Clary could feel Isabelle's heavy gaze, knowing that she was being examined, that Isabelle was trying to take inventory of Clary's bruises.

Braving the light, Clary peeked through cracked lids to see the heavy stare, questions poised to spill from Isabelle's lips, questions that Clary wasn't prepared to answer.

Though there wasn't any conversation, it wasn't silent. No, silence would have been much better. Instead, the void was filled with a quiet humming, the sound emanating from deep within Isabelle's throat as she drummed her two-day-old manicure against the steering wheel. That was phase one of Isabelle's angry mode, the calm before the storm. Clary could always tell when Izzy was about to blow. It would start with the white noise, the whine Isabelle let out as she thought. Then, it would slowly die down as she pressed her lips into a thin line, her face almost turning white as she saved her breath for the first scream of the argument. Isabelle looked that way now, her pink pout pushed tightly together, her powdered face slowly draining of color. Clary nearly jerked as Isabelle's mouth finally opened.

No sound came out.

Isabelle merely blinked her smoky eyes a few time before returning her gaze to the windshield. Her hand moved to the shifter and slammed the car into drive, her lead foot all the way to the floor. Clary's fingers dug into the sides of the leather seat as the tires skidded on a patch of ice. But the car righted itself and continued unharmed down the highway. At least it was better than the yelling.

The problem with quarrelling with Isabelle was that Izzy's arguments were always well thought out and logical, making it virtually impossible to win. Plus, Isabelle was stubborn and refused to give in even when things were going south. It was usually better for Clary to just tuck her tail between her legs and surrender to Izzy's wrath. Clary tightened her scarf around her neck, making sure it was covering the fresh bruise blossoming along her collarbone. She did not want tonight to be one of those nights.

She really hoped the Isabelle had finally given up on Clary's love life, had finally decided that it was a hopeless case to make her see sense. Because it really was. Clary was so deeply in love with Sebastian she refused to see the bad in him. She was so blinded by the way he used to be that she couldn't really focus on the way he was now.

After discretely checking that her gloves hid the finger-shaped marks on her wrists, she leaned back into her seat, allowing her heavy eyelids to drift shut. It wasn't like Sebastian had beaten her or anything, but that's exactly what Isabelle would have thought if she saw the bruises. Isabelle always thought that when a purple mark appeared on Clary's pale skin. In her defense, she bruised very easily and over eighty percent of the bruises she'd acquired in her lifetime had nothing to do with Sebastian. Sadly, the other twenty percent did.

No, Sebastian didn't abuse Clary in the way Isabelle thought. He didn't punch her, or slap her, or kick her. Sometimes he just handled her a bit too roughly. It wasn't that big of a deal. Anything could happen in a moment of passion. The sensitive spot by her neck wasn't from a hit or a bite. Sebastian had just become a bit too excited and sucked hard enough on her skin to leave a mark. The bruises against her wrist were from him squeezing a little too tight, unaware of how much pressure he was applying. They were accidents at most. Sebastian probably didn't even realize he'd hurt her. Clary knew he would apologize if he did. She knew he would. But she wouldn't mention it to him because it would just be another thing on his plate.

Tonight had gone just like any other after a lost race. She'd chased after his sled, pulled him away while he was kicking it, and kissed him until his rage morphed into passion. She'd let him lead her into the trailer and lay her across the foldout couch. It didn't matter that she hadn't exactly wanted to go that far tonight, that he kept going even when she halfheartedly asked him to stop. They've been together intimately plenty of times before, so it couldn't have been rape. How was he supposed to know that this time was different than any other time? He wasn't. So Clary just allowed him to strip her, to hungrily drink in her body and have his way with her. It worked. Sebastian had calmed down immediately, forgetting about Jace and the lost race, forgetting about his father's disappointment. When he focused on Clary, he was suddenly a different man. She didn't care that it had been a little painful, didn't care that she herself didn't finish, or that she never had before. What mattered to her was that he did, and she'd prevented him from stalking over to Herondale's trailer and getting the living shit kicked out of him. Yes, Seb and Jace had been in plenty of fistfights before, and Sebastian had yet to come out on top.

"Clary!" Isabelle screeched, snapping her fingers in front of Clary's glazed eyes.

"Huh? What?" Isabelle was standing outside the opened passenger door, a hand on her hip with an aggravated expression. With a shake of her head, she stalked through the parking garage, punching the elevator's call button with a tad too much force. Had Clary really been daydreaming that long? She unlatched her seatbelt and slipped out of the Tahoe, her sore back making her move excruciatingly slowly. She smiled at her friend though, playing it off that she was just tired. Isabelle's eyes showed that she didn't buy it. Whatever.

The walk to the room was silent. Where usually they'd chatter about their days and recount funny moments, Isabelle instead decided to be more interested in her cell phone, ignoring Clary completely. Not that she exactly minded. Clary had too many thoughts racing through her head to even focus on Isabelle.

She realized that she didn't know Jace Herondale, that she had never personally talked to him nor even made eye-contact with him, yet she couldn't help the pure hatred she felt for him. He was the kind of guy that was attractive and was well aware it. He was the kind of guy that used his good looks to his advantaged. She'd heard he had a knife for a tongue and actual knives tucked in his pockets. She'd seen his arrogance on the track. The flip at the end may have been amazing, but it was overkill. He was so far in the lead that he should have humbled himself and just crossed the line, not turn to complete recklessness that could have and should have been avoided. Plus, Sebastian wasn't too fond of the guy, which only fueled Clary's fire.

She shuffled into the apartment after Isabelle, flicking on the kitchen lights as she moved through to her bedroom. Their apartment was nothing special: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen with a breakfast nook, and a living room. In the shared rooms, the floors were linoleum that mimicked the look of hardwood, and all the walls were painted in warm tones. The kitchen appliances were black and in good shape. But the real beauty was in the details. It was in the large forest scene Clary had painted for the living room, hanging proudly behind the overstuffed sofa, illuminated by white Christmas lights above it. It was in the fresh bouquet of daisies, sitting on the second-hand kitchen table. It was in the picture frames of friends and family tucked in every possible corner. Clary really enjoyed it here.

She winced as Isabelle's bedroom door slammed down the hall. Izzy didn't seem to be liking it quite as much right now. Clary was to blame for that. She slowly dragged herself to her bedroom, comforted by the familiar orange walls and wrinkly purple comforter. Her room was so different from Isabelle's. Where every open surface in Izzy's was covered with the newest makeup and jewelry trends, Clary's were covered in art supplies and dog-eared books. Where Isabelle's walls were full of fashion concepts and posters from magazines, Clary's were covered in twinkling lights and pictures, both drawings and actual pictures. Her room was serene, her escape, her hideaway. She seldom invited people into her bedroom. Even Isabelle didn't enter without knocking. It was just an unspoken rule. Clary's room was off limits.

She discarded her clothes into the hamper as she slinked into her attached bathroom, welcoming the warm shower water as it rolled down her sore muscles. Just because she allowed Sebastian to be rough with her, didn't mean that it didn't hurt. She was in agony. Her back had been pressed against a hard metal beam in the couch, her legs bent awkwardly around his back. He'd held her wrists above her head the entire time. He really hated when she touched him. Sebastian had always been that way, though. He'd never been fond of the really intimate aspects of relationships. Clary understood that. People disliked different things. Clary disliked broccoli, and Sebastian disliked the touchy-feely. She respected it.

She scrubbed her body and rinsed her hair until the water ran cold. Even then it was difficult for her to leave the warm mist that had accumulated behind the glass door. She just wanted to be swathed in its heat, caressed by the steamy air. After being comforted by hot air, Clary really had to admit that she was yearning for an affectionate side of Sebastian, one that held her hand in crowds and ran up behind her to hug her around the waist and twirl her in circles. She shook her head, sending droplets of water onto the cold tile floor.

Had she met Sebastian before Jace Herondale popped into the picture, she might have known that side of him. Instead, most of the time spent with Sebastian was also spent with the all-consuming hate he felt for the blond. She believed that before Jace, before Sebastian was filled with so much resentment, before snocross engulfed his life, Sebastian may have been the ideal boyfriend. She wondered if he'd ever brought a girl flowers, if he'd ever opened the car door for her, if he'd ever held an umbrella above her head as it rained. He certainly hadn't done that for her. Sure, he'd given her this diamond pendant, but that was for their four-year anniversary. She could count on one hand the amount of times he'd given her something, and using the same hand, she could count how many meals he had purchased for her. But that didn't bother her so much. Relationships were about equality. Why should the man have to buy everything? Was the woman's money not good enough?

Clary pulled one of her old college hoodies over her head, adjusting the hood and sleeves to cover the blemishes. She didn't need Isabelle peeking in the room to see them. Sebastian didn't need Isabelle's fury as well as his father's and Herondale's. It just wasn't fair.

She stuck her phone on its charger and crawled beneath her blankets, closing her eyes and willing sleep to come.

The next thing she remembered was being jolted awake in the middle of the night. She could tell it was still nighttime because silvery moonlight was seeping through her blinds, slashing lines of light across Isabelle's face. One cut across her eyes perfectly, the highlighting her menacing dark irises. "Are you going to tell me what the fuck happened?" she questioned, her arms crossed over her chest, her posture harsh. Clary flinched away at the loud voice, burying her face into her pillow. Maybe she was dreaming. "Nice try, Clarissa Morgenstern." Isabelle yanked the pillow away, tossing it to the other side of the room. Clary sighed, slowly turning to face her friend.

Isabelle…didn't look like Isabelle. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, like she hadn't gone to bed yet. Her hair was still perfectly straight, though its usual volume had fallen flat. Her pink lipstick was smudged at the corner, as was her eyeliner. Had she been crying? Clary propped herself up on one elbow. Though Isabelle wasn't looking like her usual self, her scrutinizing gaze still made Clary shrink back. "I'm fine, Iz. Really." Isabelle shook her head.

"No. You don't get to do that, Clary. You went gallivanting off after the race, shouting something about catching a ride with Sebastian. Then, two hours later I got a call that said that plans had changed. I think I deserve an explanation." Her voice was pleading, but Clary merely shook her head. Isabelle didn't need to know. The mattress jostled a bit as Isabelle sat down, placing a comforting hand against Clary's thigh. "Clare-bear, I can't watch him treat you like this. You deserve better. You really do."

"He treats me well," she answered a little too quickly. She saw the doubt in Isabelle's tired eyes. She didn't register what was happening until Isabelle had already pulled her sweatshirt collar away from her neck.

"Then what's that, Clary? What's that?" Clary brushed Isabelle's hand off, making sure to cover up the bruise. She was sure it looked even worse than before. It sure hurt a hell of a lot more. "You and I both know that hickies disgust you, so why are you constantly covering them up?"

"It's fine, Isabelle. Really."

"God, you just don't get it, do you?" Isabelle rubbed her reddening eyes, standing up abruptly and turning toward the door. "I can't…I won't," she amended, "stand by and watch you do this to yourself. " With that said, she closed the door, leaving Clary completely alone in the dark.

"Oh, baby, this is amazing," the woman purred into Jace's ear. Aline? He thought she said her name was Aline.

Jace sighed lightly, looking over the girl's tanned shoulder to the floor below. Truth wasnnnit wasn't amazing. Jace could barely even tell if he was inside her. That was the risk one always took with inviting a snow bunny into the trailer, but damn, Jace had never snagged one this bad. He was almost tempted to get up and put his pants back on. He had a reputation to uphold though. One where he'd never left a girl unsatisfied. That's right. He may be a man whore, but he knew how to treat a lady…or rather…a one night stand.

As if hearing his thoughts, the girl's breathing picked up, a squeal of pleasure escaping her lips. Jace couldn't tell if she was climaxing or not. He couldn't feel anything. He just kind of assumed she was as her eyes rolled back into her head.

"Look at me as you cum, Jace," she growled, clamping her sharp nails around his chin and dragging his gaze to hers. She was pretty in a way, with dark, almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was pin straight, barely brushing her shoulders, and was a shade darker than her irises. It was such a shame that she thought so lowly of herself that her life had come to this.

Jace couldn't find it in him to tell her he wasn't about to finish, so he grunted a bit and pulled out, discarding the condom before she could even tell. She smirked as she lay there. Jace had to admit, her body made up for her mediocre face. She had legs that seemed to stretch on endlessly in miles of tanned skin. Her chest was full, big enough that he couldn't fit one of her boobs into the palm of his hand. Her hips were wide, but her waist was narrow, creating the perfect as that in better circumstances, Jace probably would have smacked. He wasn't exactly feeling kinky as he redressed himself, not bothering to even glance at the woman. "There's some drinks in the fridge if you're thirsty," he said over his shoulder as he walked out of the trailer. Of course she was thirsty; she'd been strutting around in basically underwear all day just hoping to find a man. He shook his head as he yanked open the unlocked door to the RV.

"Hey, man," Alec greeted without looking up from one of his college texts. He was going for his master's degree in biochemistry and often disappeared after races to study. "She didn't get you off like snocross?" Jace chuckled a bit, grabbing a couple chips from the opened bag and crunching them loudly.

"Nah, man. Haven't found my dream girl yet." Alec snorted, knowing full well that Jace probably would never find his dream girl. Jace knew that as well. That's why he made it his personal mission to sleep with anything that had a heartbeat and didn't have herpes.

The truth was, Jace wasn't exactly sure he _wanted _to find that girl. He didn't really want to be tied down. He was only 25. He was young. He had time later to be a lame old boyfriend. He just wanted to live.

He ran his hands through his hair as Alec finally set down his book. "You see Iz today?" Jace furrowed his brows. His sister had _never_ come to one of his races. He wasn't even sure she knew he raced.

"No…?" It was supposed to be a statement, but Jace's voice rose a bit at the end, making it sound more like a question.

"She came with her friend, and you'll never guess who it was." Jace gave a little smirk that said _try me_. He knew a lot of women, like, _a lot_. It wasn't very often that Jace didn't know one, especially one associated with his sister. "Verlac's girlfriend." Jace nearly choked on his chips. That bastard had a girlfriend? Damn, was she blind? Verlac was even more of an asshole than Jace, and he sure as hell knew Sebastian treated girls like dirt. He'd seen one or two snow bunnies leave his trailer with bruises forming on their skin. At least Jace had never hurt a woman.

"That poor soul," was all Jace could muster as he flopped down on the couch. Alec shook his head. Jace could see the pity in his brother's clear blue eyes. If eyes were windows to the soul, Alec's were like a microscope. Jace could always tell his brother's exact feelings by one look into his irises. They were icy when he was angry, soft when he was sorrowful, bright when he was happy. Jace probably knew Alec's eyes better than his own. For so long he'd studied his brother, wondering why he was so reserved around women, why he never talked or even showed interest in one. Then, he'd seen the way Alec's face blushed slightly around the male cashier at Starbucks, the way his eyes widened fractionally whenever Robert told Alec he should find a girlfriend. That's when Jace realized that he was gay. No, Alec had never mentioned his sexuality, but Jace knew Alec well enough to see it.

"Yeah, I caught Isabelle when she was frantically searching for her. Apparently she ran after Sebastian after he lost. You know how he gets when he loses." Yeah, Jace knew. That kid was fucked up. Most of the time he'd chase after Jace, picking a fight that he always lost. Jace would let him throw the first punch though, so all the witnesses would say that Jace had been acting in self defense. He didn't need a criminal record to make people think he was like his father in more ways than looks. Jace wondered how badly the girl was hurt. Not that he really cared. She put herself in that position. "Yeah, Iz just texted saying she saw bruises. But I guess Clary's too stubborn to admit something's wrong." Clary, huh? It was a nice enough name, like clary sage. Not that he'd ever touch something Verlac's been with. The thought was repulsive.

"Verlac's a bastard. She should realize that soon enough." Alec replied with a yeah, though Jace could tell his heart wasn't into it. For some unknown reason, Alec worried for the stupid girl. Jace shrugged. It was her own problem that she didn't dump his sorry ass. It had been easy enough for his father to do it to him. Memories began flashing before his eyes, ones that he'd rather not see for the rest of his life, and if there was an afterlife, he wouldn't want to see them there either. He told Alec he was going to shower and quickly shut himself in the cramped bathroom, bracing his weight against the sink as he stared at his reflection.

His golden eyes were clear, his blond hair more brown since it was dark with sweat. His skin was tanned, scarred from various snocross accidents and those several other events he refused to talk about. Whenever one of his dates would ask, he'd just tell them they were all from hard crashes, even the jagged one that cut from his left hip to just below his rib cage. He'd tell them they were from surgeries of ruptured organs. He'd tell them anything to stop the questions, anything but the reality. He barely even told himself the truth.

He slammed his fist into the countertop surrounding the sink, the RV shaking under the force. God, how he hated Stephen! Why couldn't he have been a Lightwood by blood? Why hadn't Maryse changed his last name to Lightwood? Why did she insist on him remaining a Herondale? _You can bring greatness back to your family, Jace_, she'd told him when he'd asked. Greatness? Through what? Racing? Because that didn't seem like enough to compensate for the stigma of being a murderer's son. He may have had fans cheering for him as he flung his sled through the air, yanking it backwards so he spun through the air, but how many were actually cheering in hopes that he'd land on his head and die? Because nobody treated him that way in public. They skirted around him, careful not to brush against him, probably hoping they didn't catch whatever hypothetical disease his father's crimes had infected him with.

It was hard. It was hard to be loved in one place and hated in another. And no matter what he did, he couldn't shake his father's shadow, couldn't make the public see him for him. They'd always think he was a murderer on the inside, waiting and biding his time until he finally snapped. Jace knew that's what they all thought, though they didn't say it. He knew that's what the interviewers were thinking as they stepped into rooms together, no less than ten people surrounding them to make sure Jace didn't wrap his fingers around the questioner's throat.

If anyone were capable of murder, it would be Sebastian. People should be running from him in fear that he'd trample them with his sled. Not Jace. Jace couldn't do that. Not after all he'd seen.

He cut his thoughts off there, already spiraling into the pit of depression that he'd worked so hard to claw out of. He turned on the water and cleaned himself, careful around the flaming scratches from the girl's nails. Damn, she had claws. He may have worn them proudly if the sex had been good, but now he was just ashamed as he rested his head against the wall. Maybe he should start looking for his sno-x woman, find something to tether him to the earth besides this sport that could be ripped away from him with one wrong move, give him a reason not to care about what the world thought and only care about what she thought. God, wouldn't that be nice? To just want to please only one person, to feel that only her opinion mattered. But, then again, what if she didn't like him? What if her opinion changed and left him crushed all over again.

No, that's why he never would get attached. He was the Lone Ranger. Alec was Tonto. Jace could only ever rely on Alec because Alec would never leave his side. It was easier that way, getting rid of all the variables in Jace's happiness. He couldn't let anyone close to him that could possibly hurt him.

One more abandonment just might be his downfall.

* * *

_Thoughts? Questions? Concerns? Review, lovelies...and maybe you'll get a ride on Jace's Polaris...(**WHICH BY THE WAY NEEDS A NAME!**) Sooo...comment a possible name, too ;)_

_All My Love_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	3. Chapter 3

_Gah! Update! Writing these makes me miss snox :( It's really fun to be there watching...even if I'm freezing my ass off! Okay...anyways...enjoy!_

* * *

By the time Clary woke, Isabelle had already left, leaving behind a trail of sweet perfume. She couldn't see Clary, couldn't look her in the eye and act like a civilized human being. She couldn't act like her friend wasn't throwing her life away, wasn't putting herself in the line of fire by constantly returning the Sebastian's bed, by letting him take advantage of her, by justifying the purple tint of her wrists and neck. It was sickening, terrifying, and something that was completely out of Izzy's control.

Isabelle had the strangest attitude after Clary's late-night rendezvous with Sebastian. She would mask her worry for the redhead with snarky comments. She'd act rude, and be all around icy as Clary struggled to hide the evidence of Sebastian's hands all over her body. It was as if Izzy were compensating for the ache of being unable to help by filling it with anger. And this time, it had lasted all week. It was something she'd inherited from her father, Robert. He handled similar situations in the exact same way. Like the day Alec came out to them for example. It had happened so many years ago, but Isabelle could remember every vivid detail. The flash of disappointment in her father's eyes, the heated argument, the definitive scrape of her father's chair against the floor as he stormed away—it was as if those moments were ingrained in her memory, planted there to help her see through her family, to know who would be there for her and who wouldn't

God, it had been so fun, too. All six of the Lightwoods, well one was a Herondale by birth, had been seated around their massive oak dining table, feasting on Maryse's savory stuffed peppers. Silverware clacked against the china as noises of approval were made. "So, Max," Maryse had started as she spooned some corn onto her plate, not making contact with her son. "We went to was your sheets today, and they were…crusty…" Maryse's dark eyes, the one's Isabelle's replica black eyes had spawned from, flitted to her youngest son, her mouth pursed in disapproval although it was obvious she was trying to contain her laughter.

"It was…it was toothpaste!" Max had shouted of the aforementioned bedsheets, his face darkening into a shade of red similar to a tomato. Jace released a snort, and Alec choked out a laugh as Maryse mused that it was a strange not only to have toothpaste on bed sheets, but to also have it about halfway down. Isabelle coughed up some of her bread as she giggled. Even Robert's blue eyes were alive with laughter, dancing between his wife of twenty-six years and his then thirteen-year-old son.

They were a strange family in that they were very open about sexual topics. Of course, the children never mentioned the intimate aspects of their relationships, but they were never afraid to spew innuendos. Their parents not only kept up with the perverseness of the conversations but usually topped it by speaking from personal experience. Which, though usually hilariously funny, also proved to be quite gross. She was glad that Alec's room was situated below their parents. She didn't know if she could handle to rhythmic pounding of the headboard into the wall nearly every night.

"Jace described his roommate's sister as fuckable!" Max shouted, his pubescent voice cracking slightly as he tried to move the attention from _The Adventures Between the Sheets with Max and Hand_ as Jace had so kindly named it. A stern look from Maryse had Max squeaking an apology, but Isabelle was eyeing Robert. A smile had slipped onto his lips, his blue eyes focused on the won with which he shared no blood. Robert had never treated Jace any differently than his real children, not in front of Isabelle anyway. When Jace would get into trouble, he'd be grounded the same way as the rest of them. When he needed new jeans or shoes, Robert would hand Maryse some cash to take him to the mall. When he had a race, Robert would attend and cheer, telling everyone proudly that the winner was his son. Aside from sharing no physical resemblance or genes, Jace was as much Robert and Maryse's child as Izzy, Alec, and Max were.

"How _is_ the girl situation at NYU?" Robert asked. He was always wondering if his kids had anyone special in their lives. Maryse and Robert were eager for grandchildren, practically begging one of them to have a child. Isabelle was only twenty-one at the time, finally legally able to drink the martini's she'd enjoyed for so long, and would always shake her head, saying that there was no bun in the oven for her, not even anyone to put it there. Most fathers would be thankful their unmarried daughter wasn't pregnant, but Robert always looked a little disappointed before turning his hopeful eyes toward his eldest. Alec was twenty-four and attending graduate school. He always told Robert that he had no time for love. Robert always grunted in approval at this. In his eyes, money rivaled grandkids, and he was pleased that Alec was at least working toward one.

Now, with his eyes turned on twenty-two-year-old Jace, they were bright. One of his sons had mentioned a girl. That was as good as a marriage proposal in his eyes. But his face fell when Jace shook his head. Jace was set to graduate with a degree in business in May, and he told Robert that he'd just been focusing on finding a job and keeping his grades up. Robert nodded solemnly, though Isabelle knew better. Jace's real game plan was to strike it big in snocross, to go pro and have sponsors begging to slap their stickers on his sled. He planned receive those big, novelty checks from winning tons of races and live somewhere high in the snow-covered mountains of Colorado. He'd told her that in confidence, though, and she'd never unveil his secrets to their father.

They all returned to their meals, Jace finishing first. He rinsed his plate and put it in the dishwasher before returning to the room and kissing Maryse on the cheek. He said his goodbyes, claiming to have studying to do. Isabelle caught his eye and knew it was a lie. He had a bootycall. He always had a bootycall. It wasn't surprising, considering he spent a lot of time using NYU's gym and had sculpted his muscles. He also smelled like fuel and grease all the time, something that had women throwing themselves at his feet, begging for rides on his sled and on another appendage that he was equally as proud of.

She wrinkled her nose, wincing at the turn of her thoughts. Jace wasn't technically her brother, but it still grossed her out to think that way. She watched him pull his cars out of his pocket and walk down the hall before disappearing around the corner. "So, there's this new girl that I met at the grocery store today, Alec," Robert was saying. This was practically routine at family dinners. Robert would internally question the fertility of his children while playing matchmaker. "…attends NYU as a physics major. I thought maybe you could—" There was a startled silence as Alec slammed his knife into his half-eaten pepper, the handle sticking straight out of the tomato sauce and meat filling.

"No," he said in the firmest voice Isabelle had ever heard him use. Alec had always been so gentle, so quiet. But now, his blue eyes were ablaze, boring into their shocked father, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. "I will not ask her out. I will not ask any girl out. Ever." Isabelle gasped at where this was going, her father's face morphing from one of puzzlement to rage. "I am gay."

More silence invaded the room like an unwelcome guest, laying heavily on everyone's shoulders as Robert's eyebrows inched lower and lower, the scowl slowly chiseling away at his features. The eerie calm shattered when her father left, the slam of the front door resounding through the space like a gunshot. That was when Isabelle realized her father was only kind when he was getting what he wanted, that his closed-mindedness would drive their family apart, forcing Isabelle to choose between Alec and the rest of her family. A choice she refused to make, a choice that had kept her away from her parents for two years. She used cards instead of phone calls to mark birthdays and holidays, packages instead of visits to remind them of her existence. She ignored them when the buzzed her apartment, pretending to be anywhere but home. She didn't blame Alec. He hadn't mentioned his sexuality to anyone after that, not even Jace. But she didn't think Alec had caused any of this, and after seeing him yesterday, it only solidified that thought. Her father's inability to accept his son had pushed all his children away. Even Max barely associated with the guy, and he lived there.

But today, today she needed his help. Not only was he her father. But he was also a police chief, with a deeply rooted vengeance for sexual and domestic abusers.

* * *

Clary was thankful that Isabelle had left early. She was able to munch silently on her cereal without blushing under her friend's heated gaze. She was able to hide her yellowed bruises without the condescending comments spewing from Isabelle's lips. She was able to pull on a hoodie and jeans without a scoff of disapproval. Even though Clary was thankful that grumpy Isabelle was nowhere to be found, she did miss her friend. She missed their late-night Netflix binges and the constant laughter they shared.

It was already Thursday, almost six days since she'd last seen Sebastian, and Isabelle was still angry. Usually her rage settled down by the afternoon of the next day and apologies were given, topped with hugs and ice cream. Not this time, apparently.

Clary settled onto the sofa, her sketchbook propped against her knees as she chewed on the end of her pencil. She didn't understand what was so different about this time. Sebastian giving Clary unwanted hickies was nothing new. Actually, it was commonplace. Clary could only think that Isabelle was angered to have been woken from her beauty sleep.

Clary absently scratched her pencil against the paper, the graphite leaving behind dark swirls of lines, morphing into the image of a snocross racer soaring across the finish line, snowmobile halfway into a flip. _Jace_.

There was that, too. Her feelings about Jace. Inside, she had such an intense hatred toward him. Just the way he treated Sebastian, the air of arrogance that surrounded him like a dense fog, the way his face made her want to sink to her knees and thank the Lord above for gracing her with his presence. Whoa. Where did that come from? She tore the picture out of the book and crumpled it into a ball. Jace was rude, cocky. She couldn't find him attractive. She _refused_ to think of him in any other way than an enemy. She sighed, standing up to deposit the drawing into the trash.

She knew it was strange to hate someone she hadn't even talked to, but it was like some stranger walking by and kicking her dog. She might not have known that stranger, but she hated him. Jace theoretically kicked Sebastian all the time, and therefore, she hated him with every fiber of her being. From the things she'd heard about him from Sebastian, there wasn't actually much to love.

Apparently his father went nuts, forcing Jace to help him kill their whole family before attempting Jace's life. Jace escaped and took to the streets at the young age of ten, where he stole food and necessities to stay alive. Sebastian had once told her that he nearly beat another racer to death after he was knocked off the track. He also said that Jace used women the same way his father had. Sebastian was a firm believer that Jace could flip at any moment and follow his father's murderous footsteps, and Clary wasn't so sure she didn't agree.

Her heart leapt into her throat as her phone dinged. _New iMessage from Bastian_

**Race tonight. You better be there.**

Clary typed a quick response that she would be. The day had already slipped into evening, and Clary sighed. She had known that Seb had a race tonight, but it had momentarily slipped her mind. She ran her fingers through her hair and set to work on gearing up for the cold.

It wasn't hard. She pulled on some long underwear and tucked them into her jeans. After lacing boots onto her feat and yanking her hoodie over her head, she zipped herself into her jacket. She tamed her frizzy hair underneath her knitted cap and looped her scarf around her neck. She powdered her bruise although it was already covered with her scarf. Sebastian didn't need to see those things. She added a hint of mascara since Sebastian preferred she wear makeup and grabbed the keys to her hand-me-down Honda Civic. Thanks to Isabelle getting a new car for graduation, Clary was gifted the old one. She steered it in the direction of this track, knowing this event to be bigger than the last.

She wasn't disappointed as thousands of people milled about, watching the younger classes race each other on the track. Clary decided it was best to find a seat. Sebastian wouldn't want to see her before his race anyway. She dusted the snow off an open spot on the bleachers and sat down. She had gotten there only three races before Sebastian's. She watched some high school boys battle it out on the s-corners, one sled tumbling off the track. Luckily, he was okay and was able to pull through with a third place. Even from the stands, Clary could see how pissed he was. She wondered if that was what Jace had looked like when it had happened to him. Had he stormed off the track only to blindside the kid later? Had he chucked his helmet aside and duked it out right then and there? Had it even happened?

She watched the groomer fix the track before she saw Sebastian's unmistakable sled pull up to the starting line. She also could see Jace right next to him. 464 was his racing number. Oddly enough, Seb's was 646. She wondered if it was a mere coincidence or something more. She shook it off as the sleds took off, a wave of snow flying behind them as the soared over the snow. Clary could tell from the beginning that Sebastian had lost. He missed the holeshot. He let off the throttle at the wrong times. He cased a jump, jostling him just enough to look painful. It was no surprise when Jace took the checkered flag. Clary raced after Sebastian's snowmobile, moving fast enough to just become a speck on the horizon.

She was panting heavily as she finally saw his trailer. She slowed to a walk, trying to catch her breath. "Bastian?" Clary inquired softly between huffs as she approached his shadowy figure. He was hunched over the hood of his pickup truck, cursing loudly at a few random men who were checking out his dented sled. They exchanged fearful looks before disappearing behind the trailer. Why was Sebastian's sled dented?

That moved to the back of her mind as a low growl emanated from Sebastian's throat. He needed her to calm him down. He always did. She stopped a couple feet away from him, watching his fist slam into the pristine vehicle, chipping away at the black paint and creating an ever increasing dent. Clary shook her head, knowing his dad would probably get him a new one tomorrow.

She exhaled heavily, rolling her head to the indigo sky. The sun had set sometime since she'd arrived, and the stars were shimmering brilliantly, like pinpricks of light seeping through holes in the dark fabric of the atmosphere. The feral noises from Sebastian made her stomach feel funny. It wasn't the butterflies she'd felt when she'd first met Sebastian, all racing heartbeats and tickling anxiousness. No, this was different, brought on by fear. It was like she'd swallowed a lead brick. She hated to admit it, but Seb scared her when he got like this, when his dark eyes were filled with so much fury, so much hatred, when his vision was so red he couldn't decipher friend from foe. It was worse when those emotions travelled to his fists. Usually it happened slowly, the fire spreading at a sluggish rate until it finally exploded, but by the crunching of metal in the air, it had already engulfed his entire being. _Now or never, _her mind ordered as her feet shuffled forward against her will. She didn't really know the reason she kept throwing herself onto the pyre, just setting herself up for agony. But unfailingly after every lost race, she'd stand at his side, just waiting for the words and bruises to come. Idle chatter was lost in the wind as she reached his side, placing a gloved hand on his black Ford. "Baby, you were great."

His brown hair had gotten so long, nearly brushing the tops of his shoulders in sweaty clumps. It fell into his face, sticking to his skin as he turned toward her. Gone were the soft smiles they used to share, the light in his eyes as he joked with her. His once breathtaking face was contorted in rage. "Shut. Up!" He roared, his untamed eyes boring into her. This is what she'd expected. He'd lost…to Jace Herondale nonetheless. He was bound to be infuriated. He couldn't control it, couldn't help displacing his anger onto anyone nearby. Clary squeaked all the same, shrinking under his harsh glare as she pressed her lips tightly together. Sebastian moved his fingers to his head, squeezing his skull between his palms. She knew he would have finger shaped bruises on his temples by the morning. "God, you just _don't get it_." His voice was just as hard, icy, but Clary heard just the slightest crack, the minutest change of pitch. It was all she needed to know that she hadn't lost him completely, that the anger hadn't fully consumed his soul and somewhere encaged inside was Sebastian Verlac, trying desperately to break through to the surface. Clary placed her hand on his forearm, only to have it shrugged off.

"Help me understand," she whispered, her green eyes willing his gaze to meet hers. When they did, she saw it there. The real Sebastian. _Her _Sebastian. Swimming beneath the hard onyx surface was a small, defeated boy, so broken and battered behind this tough façade, only wanting to be loved and accepted. She could just imagine the phone call he'd shared with his father following the race, one that included a lot of screaming and disappointment. She knew her pride in him wasn't enough, that he would never feel completely successful until his father was proud of him, too. Second place was amazing in her eyes. She felt that a hard fight was never something to be ashamed of, even if it was lost. To Sebastian's father, second place was only the first loser, no better than the hundreds of people behind him. "I want to understand." She reached out to him again, and this time he let her touch remain as he dropped his face into his hands. His confidence was obliterated. Whatever argument he'd been in, whether with Jace or his father, had left him in pieces. She rubbed her hand across his back, wondering if he could even feel it through the thick parka he was wearing. In any case, he relaxed under her touch, his whole body sagging against the truck. She saw rather than heard his breath as he sighed, watching the white vapor swirl artistically into the sky, each particle intricately weaving around each other until they were too far apart too see anymore.

There was beauty in this moment. As a few fat snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground, the spaces between were not empty. They were full, full of raw, uninhibited emotion, occupied by pain and sadness, saturated with both love and hatred. Those two emotions seemed to be polar opposites, yet spawned from the same feeling: passion. Clary had often heard of hatred morphing to love over time, the passion of detestation melting down into the passion of adoration. Or, the other way around, when two passionate lovers separated, stepping into the heated flames of odium. They were one in the same. If someone was hated, they were always at the forefront of the hater's mind in the same way if someone was loved, their lover never stopped thinking about them. Not that she'd ever experienced such a thing. She didn't think Sebastian would be loving Herondale any time soon either.

Clary gasped, yanked from her thoughts when Sebastian's hands were on her arms, her back pressed uncomfortably against the cool metal of the truck. She felt his fingers digging into her skin, even through the thick layers she was wearing. These wouldn't be the worst bruises she'd suffered, but she still had to bite her cheek to contain her yelp. "Baby," he whispered as ran his cold nose down the length of her cheek, "I don't really want to talk right now." She felt his hot breath against her neck as he pulled her scarf away, suckling roughly at her skin. She refrained from cringing. There was already a bruise there, yellowed but tender. The pressure on it made her want to yelp, to scream how much she really hated when Sebastian marked her. She didn't, though. She didn't want to make matters any worse.

"Seb," Clary breathed, trying to wriggle away from the assault against her throat, "this isn't appropriate for public." Sebastian grunted, tightening his hold as he opened the passenger door and hopped inside. Her body was jarred as he pulled her in on top of him.

"Better?" His fingers pulled her hair to drag her face against his, their lips colliding. Clary tasted blood as he bit down on her bottom lip, still jerking painfully on her curls. She kissed him back though, allowing him to use her love to compose himself. His lips were chapped, cold against her own. He forced his tongue into her mouth, wiggling it around more like a fish than something that was supposed to arouse her. His fingers tugged down her jacket zipper, and he pushed off her shoulders, casting it away as if the Carhart offended him. It probably did, since Sebastian never wore anything that cost less than two hundred dollars. He had her down to her bra in seconds, breaking the rough kiss only when necessary to remove her clothes. Even then, his lips found purchase somewhere against her skin, bruising the surface, creating a sensitive spot that made Clary wince every time it was touched. Somehow, within the confines of the cab, he'd managed to strip his own torso, and Clary felt his burning chest pressed against her skin. His heartbeat thudded against her chest, not in the comforting way as romance novels insisted on portraying it. It made her feel afraid, worried that he planned to take things too far.

Clary's eyes flew open when Sebastian reached back to unhook her bra. She shoved him away, looking out the window uncomfortably at the several bystanders that could possibly see. "Sebastian, I don't want to do this." Sebastian growled and pulled her flush against him, continuing his attack on her face. She squirmed against him, refusing to kiss him back until he stopped. "Sebastian. Not. Tonight." Sebastian glowered, the anger returning from earlier. She _never _refused him. His bared his teeth at her, looking more like a rabid animal than the man she'd fallen in love with. He'd never scared her this much, never clamped his hands around her forearms the way he was now. She felt restrained, imprisoned. Sebastian could easily overpower her, throw her against the seat and just have his way with her. There was no way in hell that Clary's scrawny limbs could keep him from forcing himself into her. She might be able to bite him, but at this point, she didn't knew if Seb even felt pain.

Clary's heart was hammering heavily against her ribs as he opened the door and pushed her out, tossing her clothing articles on top of her. The snow stung against her hot skin, and she bit her already bleeding lip to stop from screaming. "Fine. Be a prude bitch. I'll find somebody else to satisfy my needs." With that, he shut the door, scooted ungracefully over to the driver's seat, and took off. She watched him flag down a snow bunny a couple of yards away, her black leggings completely see-through as she sauntered over to his truck, smirking as she stepped inside. The lights in the cab were on, making Clary sick as she saw Sebastian bring their lips together in the gentlest of kisses. He was never gentle with her, never sweet or caring. It was always about him, about his satisfaction and pleasure. She felt like she was going to be sick as she pulled her clothes back on, ignoring the concerned glances from the few crews that still loitered in the field.

A sound of disbelief escaped her throat when she realized her cell phone and keys must have fallen out in Sebastian's truck. She let her face fall into her hands, her hair creating a crimson veil between her and the world. God, how could she have been so stupid? Sebastian almost always did this when she refused him. She'd been deserted and cheated so many times, but she'd always forgive him, grant him another chance that he didn't deserve. But he was always so charming after these incidents, buying her flowers and jewelry and peppering her face with too-hard but still sweet kisses when she finally gave into him. She'd given everything to a relationship that Sebastian was only in part-time.

Clary's problem was that she hated the loneliness of the single status, hated being the third-wheel when Simon and Izzy invited her out. Sure, they weren't exactly together, but the chemistry was there, evident in the way they looked at each other, in their playful but passionate arguments. And they kissed a lot when they were drunk. What she wouldn't give to have someone look at her the way Simon looked at Izzy, like she was the most precious thing in the world. Clary really wished Isabelle would see that, but, then again, Isabelle probably wished that Clary would see the pointlessness of a relationship with Sebastian. Love was blind.

"Fuck this," Clary spat, standing up from the ground. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't pity herself. That wasn't who she was. She could hear her father's voice in her head after a particularly painful crash when she had still raced, when she'd tripled the whoops only to case it, flipping head over teakettle, narrowly avoiding her rolling sled. _You're alright, Clarissa._ His words were soft as he helped her to her feet, pulling her from the ambulance despite the protesting paramedics. Clary had waved them off, too, though her brain felt ten times too big for her skull and it seemed as if her limbs were detached from her body. Back when she was in sno-x, nothing could slow her down. No injury was too excruciating to handle. _You are strong. _And she still was. She slammed her fist against Sebastian's dented sled. He'd kicked the shit out of it. Pieces that he'd torn from it were strewn across the snow, along with several gallons of race fuel. She wondered if he'd been contemplating on burning it. Clary shook her head. What a waste.

She should take this as a sign that Sebastian didn't know how to treat things, didn't know a good thing when he had it. She should have applied it to her relationship and used that as grounds to leave him, but she didn't. He mind was too far gone, full of pent up rage and lust, and she only knew one way to get rid of it.

She opened the back of Sebastian's trailer, lowering it to the ground, forming a ramp. The inside of Seb's trailer was just as expensive as the exterior. Sebastian kept several extra sleds in his trailer, just in case one happened to end up in the condition of the one behind her. Broken. Beyond the sleds and tools was what Sebastian liked to refer to as "the Lounge". A top-of-the-line sound system was wired into the walls. A plasma-screen television was mounted above a table that held an x-box one. It was still turned on, a paused game lit up on the screen. In front of the TV were a few leather chairs. Clary didn't feel like lounging, though. She pulled on a helmet she found discarded on the floor, shaking her head to make sure it fit alright. It did. She saw Sebastian's tether hanging from a hook and grabbed it, not bothering to dress in the rest of the gear. She had to do this. She had to feel strong. Empowered. She straddled the sled and pushed the tether into its spot. It started up without a hitch, the machine rumbling smoothly beneath her small frame. She couldn't help the smile on her face drove it right off the trailer, not bothering to stop until she reached the track.

God, she hadn't realized how much she missed this. She welcomed the cold wind as it blew through her curls, the long, red strands falling from beneath her helmet and down her back. She could almost hear the roar of the crowd, could imagine a dozen of other sleds lined up beside her, revving their engines as she leaned forward. She counted down in her head, imagining the light ticking from red to yellow. When the green flashed in her mind, she punched the throttle.

She soared across the snow, seemingly unrestrained by the effects of gravity. The track spouted chunks of ice into the air behind her as her sled tore through it. She glided through the turns, soared over the whoops, cleared the tabletop. She was flying. She was free. Her body was one with the machine, her thumb never releasing the throttle. It roared beneath her, the wild sound as intoxicating as the feeling. She could imagine her father in the pits, there to congratulate her at the end, to give her a hug whether she won or lost. At the pace she was going, she was positive it would have been a win.

She felt no fear, no anxiousness, no worry. There was only room in her for joy, pure reckless abandon. She wondered if this was how Sebastian felt as he roared through the pack, as he leapt high above the whoops and overtook the ones in front of him. Or had it become like a job to him, a chore that he performed merely to please his father. She revved the machine as she it became airborne, the sound like music to her ears. Was it really just gears to him? A task that was only completed with a blue ribbon? Because how she was feeling right now, she couldn't care less if she were the slowest racer to ever sit on an Arctic Cat. This was the most graceful she'd ever felt, the most alive. She realized why snocross had been so difficult for her to give up as she transitioned into college. It was fascinating, invigorating, addictive. She whipped the sled to the side, releasing one hand to thrust her fist into the air.

As if her punch had broken through the barrier, the snow began to fall in heavy sheets. She smiled as she landed, perfectly balanced on the skis. She really needed to get her snowmobile running again. The experience was eye-opening. It seemed to purify her soul. She felt completely serene as she carefully guided the sled back into Sebastian's trailer. She shut the back and locked it, breathing heavily as she went in search of a way to get home, not noticing the golden set of eyes on her back.

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_Can I get a review?  
_

_All My Love_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	4. Chapter 4

_#Update. Yes...I did just use a hashtag...and no, you can't do anything about it. :) Soooo...I really just have to tell you guys...I'M NOT BLONDE ANYMORE :'( I feel like I'm lying to you guys! But...I do love my new hurrrrr...It's brown with caramel in it :) yaaaayyyy! haha...okay...so I move into the dorms in exactly one week, and I'm not sure how I will be about updating after that. I will never give up on my stories, so don't give up hope! I will update when I have time. But for now...this is what I've got. Okay...sorry for the long, semi-serious A/N...so without further adieu...enjoy! :)_

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The sky was a quilt of gray clouds, snow falling in heavy, wet puffs, landing momentarily on the ground before melting against the pavement. Clary watched it from her apartment window, internally commenting that the weather perfectly matched her mood. Heavy. Frozen. Dark. She didn't understand how she hadn't felt the pain before. Maybe it was like a shark attack, where adrenalin kicks in, and the pain isn't felt until the victim is brought to shore. Maybe she loved him so much she refused to see his flaws, ignored his harsh words and hands. Sebastian's betrayal was the wakeup call she needed to realize what an abusive relationship she was in, how terribly Sebastian was to her, how being with him was only hurting her. And she knew that. She knew he was a bastard, an asshole, not worthy of her heart. But it was still his. She still loved him.

He had abused her in all ways: physically, emotionally, and sexually. Yet, her chest felt as if someone had burned a hole through it, right where her heart should be. Was she that sick to continue to love someone that never felt anything toward her, that treated her as a piece of replaceable property rather than a priceless gemstone? She hung her head as the answer resounded loudly through the white noise in her brain. _Yes_.

She pulled the fleece blanket tighter around her shoulders, shivering as she curled her freezing feet beneath her, inching closer to the fireplace. Even the fact that she'd wandered for nearly two hours looking for the F-150 to grab her keys wasn't enough to make her hate him. She'd endured the blizzard huddled behind his trailer, waiting for the flash of LED headlights to mark his return. When he finally did, she waited until he and his whore of choice disappeared behind the metal door. She wished she could say that she just grabbed her keys and cell phone and left, but that would be a lie. Needless to say there were several willing and drunken volunteers to help her carve some choice words into the shiny black paint.

"What the hell happened to you?" came a familiar voice from the doorway. The word choice was harsh, but the tone was uncharacteristically soft, making Clary want to burst out into tears. There was a wave of vanilla as Isabelle wrapped her lean arms around Clary, coaxing her to lie down. Clary could just imagine what she looked like: matted and tangled hair from the snow and wind, skin purple and chapped from both the bruises and the cold, lips cracked and swollen from Sebastian's incessant kisses. She felt like a teenager, resting her head in Isabelle's lap as fingers combed the thick knots from her red hair, soft words exchanged between them like secrets. "Please tell me you didn't, Clary," Isabelle whispered, her voice pleading as Clary's eyes welled up once more. She would not, could not, cry. She'd tried earlier, wondering if it would help let loose some of the pain in her chest, like opening the floodgates would release the pressure against her heart. Not one tear had slipped from her eye Not one quivering lip, not one whimper of agony. Just…nothing. Her emotions seemed to be a blank void, like they no longer existed. "Please tell me that this is the end." Isabelle's fingers had stilled the ministrations in her hair, and Clary's lips twitched. She so badly wanted to give Izzy the answer she wanted. Clary knew that it should be over, but she really just couldn't let go.

It was just barely dawn, yet Sebastian had texted her over forty times, the written words outnumbered greatly by the amount of times he'd attempted to call her. He didn't want things to end, and Clary, judging by the agony of her heart's explosion, didn't really want to either. Isabelle, as if sensing Clary's thoughts, grabbed her pale arm, tracing the marks in the exact shape of Sebastian's hands. Clary had forgotten her arms were exposed, since she'd discarded her water-logged clothes near the door and wrapped in a blanket. She tried to yank it away from the grasp, but Isabelle held tighter, making her yelp at the pressure against the bruises.

Her arm was freed immediately, and Clary rubbed the purple skin. "I don't know, Iz. I love him."

"And I love that guy from Dexter, but that doesn't mean I'm going to fucking date him!"  
"Sebastian is _not_ a killer, Isabelle," Clary countered, eyeing her friend through slits.

"Pretty damn close," Izzy mumbled, running her hands through her long black hair with a sigh. Then, did Clary finally notice Isabelle's appearance. Her hair was a little frizzy, her makeup nearly gone except for a few smudges, her outfit rumpled as if she'd slept in it.

"Where did you go last night, Iz?" Clary asked, failing to keep the accusation from her voice. Isabelle shook her head and grumbled something about going to take a shower. The couch moved a bit as Isabelle lifted off it, stomping into the bathroom. Clary waited for the water to start running before scrolling through the messages she'd received that morning.

**Baby, I'm sorry.**

** I'm sorry! Please…talk to me!**

** God, Clary, I'm so sorry!**

They were all the same message. Half-hearted apologies growing into full-on apologies before morphing into pleading messages. The bruises on her arm flared with pain, a single scratch from Sebastian's fingernail stinging sharply. Isabelle was right. She shouldn't date Sebastian, shouldn't love the one who hurt her. But she didn't want to be alone. It scared her more than anything Sebastian might do to her. She shook her head lightly, still lost in her thoughts an hour later when Isabelle emerged from the bathroom, fresh and ready for the day. "Come on, bitch," Isabelle snapped, yanking Clary up from the couch and shoving her toward the bathroom. "We are going clubbing, and I'm going to show you how real men treat ladies."

"You're going to find that at a club, Isabelle?" Isabelle smirked.

"Lest you forget you introduced me to Simon at a club." Clary rolled her eyes as Isabelle pushed her into the vanity chair.

"I'm sure he just _swooned_ over your Shakespearian language." Isabelle winked at her in the mirror before shoving her into the shower, cranking the water onto boiling before closing the door behind her.

"Ten minutes!" Isabelle squealed from the other side of the wall. Clary groaned, enjoying the warm droplets racing down her chilled skin. She massaged shampoo into her scalp, reveling in the heat as she heard Isabelle clomping around in her high heels. She heard muffled words and stopped to listen, wondering if they were meant for her.

"What do you mean you 'can't do anything,'" she heard Isabelle grouch to someone. She didn't hear the person's reply, so she must have been on the phone. "I'm a witness!" Clary tried to tune her friend out as she washed the suds from her hair, the white bubbles swirling around in the tub before disappearing down the drain. The apartment's shower bore witness to many things over the past few years. Tears, kisses, more—all had been shared with the white tiles, and Clary couldn't help but wish she could wash all those memories down the drain as easily as her soap went. "Gah!" Isabelle yelled, making it hard for Clary to ignore her. There was a thunk which Clary assumed was Isabelle hurling either her phone or her shoe across the room. What had her so riled up? Clary shrugged and shaved her legs hastily, nicking herself around the knee once, knowing that Isabelle would complain about having to cover up the scab, but Clary didn't mind. That mean that short dresses were out of the question, something that was perfectly alright with Clary.

"God, you are _so _slow!" Isabelle flew into the bathroom and all but wrenched Clary from the shower. She tossed her a fluffy towel, and Clary wrapped her wet body in it, blushing at her nakedness, though Isabelle barely even seemed to notice. "You're leg is bleeding, Clary." Clary rolled her eyes at the obvious remark, cleaning up the crimson from her leg before sticking a princess band-aid to her knee. "How mature of you, Gingie."

"Oh, shut up, Satan," Clary retorted, seeing a slow smirk stretch across Isabelle's reflection.

"I plan to fully live up to that reputation." Isabelle grinned at Clary's startled expression as she grasped her torture devices, a brush and some bobby pins, in her hands, going to work at Clary's unruly hair.

"I don't care…say fuck it!" Alec glared at Jace from the treadmill, annoyed by his loud singing. Flashing his black-haired, black-souled brother a grin, Jace pushed the weight bar up, the taut muscles of his back pressing uncomfortably into the bench. "You fail to appreciate my true greatness," he commented later, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. Alec scoffed at him as he pushed the button to increase his speed, his lean legs moving in a blur.

Jace had already been in the gym for two hours when Alec showed up, sweat coating his bare chest, his black shorts sticking to his legs. He was exhausted, his arms and legs the likeness of noodles as he moved, but he wasn't ready to leave. He couldn't get that goddamned redhead out of his brain.

The memory of her riding was on a constant loop in his brain, the image of her soaring high above the mounds with puffs of snow billowing behind her branded behind his eyelids.

He knew the rider was a girl. That much was obvious. He'd seen her red hair flying from underneath the helmet, twisting and tangling in the wind. It was evident in her petite body, in her fluid motions as she drove the sled where she wanted it to go. She had been wearing only a helmet but still refused to take anything at half speed. He thought that he was the only one ever crazy enough to do something like that. But that girl…she was completely at ease, as if she knew that snowmobile like she knew the back of her hand. Her grace as she leaned around the turns, her poise as she lifted the sled from the ground, the effortless delicacy she used to return the skis to the snow after flight, as if it was a feather instead of a sack of bolts—the entire ride was engrained into his memory. It was like watching a dance.

He'd never seen a girl move like that. The pro women racers always seemed clumsy, not entirely knowledgeable of the machine below them. Somehow, she was different, better. But he'd never seen her before. He wondered why he hadn't. Did she not race? She was amazing. Maybe she didn't want the glory, the eyes of fame on her. But who wouldn't want millions of fans cheering their name?

He couldn't help the foreign feeling creeping through his chest. He'd never felt something like that before, at least, not toward another human. It was desire. Similar to the craving he had for his sled, the way his fingers itched to punch the throttle and leap into the air. He wanted to touch her, to ravish her until she screamed. It was a similar feeling, but yet it was still different…stronger. He didn't like it.

"You alright, bro?" he heard Alec ask, noticing that he'd been intensely staring at the rack of free weights for at least five minutes. Alec's blue eyes were concerned, but Jace just shook his head, mumbling something about taking a shower before disappearing out the door.

Alec's house was huge, which was odd considering he was still a college student. Jace knew though, that each of the Lightwoods' children had a large trust fund, himself included. Alec had tapped into his to purchase a mansion, a Stingray Corvette, and a college education. Isabelle withdrew from hers every so often to satisfy a shoe craving. Jace, though, had not touched his. Sixty million and some odd dollars sitting lamely in some vault, strictly belonged to him, yet he had no intention of using it. He worked for everything he wanted, relishing in the satisfaction of earning rather than that of receiving. He knew he'd use it someday, maybe to travel the world or start a snowmobile company…or at the rate he was going, for child support.

He reached one of Alec's many bathrooms and cranked the shower's knob all the way to hot. The water rained down from the ceiling like a waterfall, running over his tight muscles. The sweat dripped from his hair, tasting salty against his lips as he ran his fingers through his golden locks. Suds of soap ran down his face, in the crevices of his muscles, disappearing down the drain. The process was simple, really. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. But right then, it was so difficult. His hands would stop moving as he struggled to imagine the face of that girl, to put a fierceness in her eyes and a softness in her expression. He couldn't do it. He couldn't picture what she might look like. He couldn't picture her life or her friends. And that's what scared him—not that he couldn't conjure up a picture of the woman, but that he wanted to.

He grunted in frustration and quickly turned off the shower, rubbing a towel through his water-darkened locks before wrapping it around his waist. No woman would do this to him, make him lose focus on what's important. How had he not thought about his own snocross races for over two hours? How had he forgotten how important this next win was for his sponsors? A victory at an AMSOIL championship was nothing to sneeze at. He needed shift his focal point from the mystery girl to his own life. He needed to get laid.

It was almost seven p.m. when he found Alec in the living room, watching some documentary about sharks on the plasma screen. "It's Shark Week, Jace!" Alec squealed a little too excitedly, his face bright like that of a child's in a candy store.

"That would be great if we were twelve, Alec." Alec scowled, but didn't avert his attention from the rather gruesome bites one someone's leg, the reddened flesh hanging in chunks from the rest of the muscle, razor sharp teeth stuck in the meat. Jace shuddered inwardly, ever maintaining his tough, manly exterior. In all reality, he hated sharks. It was a good thing that he lived in Wisconsin, where his encounters with sharks were limited to the small ones that could be petted at the mall. Because otherwise he would never set foot on a beach, and everyone would know that Jace Herondale did, in fact, get scared sometimes. He couldn't let that happen. "Get up," Jace finally said, ripping the satellite's plug in from the wall and turning to face Alec. "We are going clubbing." Alec rolled his eyes, but got up anyway, knowing that when Jace Herondale needed a wingman, there was no denying him.

Jace had thrown on a pair of dark jeans and a black v-neck, giving a nice peek of his chest muscles. He threw a black leather jacket over it and laced up his boots. He was very accustomed to the cold since he practically lived in it. Alec, on the other hand, wore two sweaters, a winter jacket, _and_ a scarf. "The only person you'll pick up with that look is Frosty the Snowman." Alec stuck his tongue out childishly, and Jace chuckled softly, sticking the keys in the ignition of his white, three-quarter ton, Chevy Duramax. He could nearly climax at the sound of the engine purring to life, the sight of black smoke pumping from the exhaust. Alec climbed into the passenger seat.

"I am very uncomfortable riding with a mechanophilliac." Jace winked at his brother and tore out of the driveway, hoping that somehow the stars would align for a good night.

The bass reverberated through Clary's entire body, making the pink liquid in her glass on the bar jiggle. Isabelle had invited Simon and was currently gyrating her ass against his junk like they were in middle school. Simon's glasses were slipping down his noise as he tried to conceal the raging hard-on he was sporting. _What a nerd_, Clary thought her herself with a smile as she took another sip of her drink. She was a little tipsy, a buzz just starting to warm her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes as someone slid into the chair next to her. "Nice shirt," she heard a low, smooth voice murmur from beside her, followed by an order of Tennessee Honey Whiskey.

"Thanks," she replied, sipping at her drink again. Clary had let Isabelle play dress-up with her all afternoon. She'd waited patiently while Isabelle straightened and curled her hair in loose waves, the texture making it look darker than it usually was, almost brown in the club's low lights. She'd looked in all the right directions as Isabelle smudged black liner around her eyes, not complaining as the mascara wand jabbed her in the eyes when Isabelle was applying what had to be the eighth coat. But, she drew the line at the skimpy leather dress Isabelle was planning on putting her in, claiming something about the razor cut on her leg being unattractive. Instead, Clary opted for tight jeans with rhinestones on the back pockets, making her ass a shimmering focal point for any gentleman walking behind her. She'd then yanked on a black t-shirt that said _Sled Bitch_ in pink, curly writing, the v-neck offering a nice look at her cleavage. This guy's comment only made her proud of herself, an internal _in your face, Isabelle_, ringing through her ears. "You ride?" she found herself asking as she turned toward him, her vision blurred as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

The owner of the deep voice was dressed in all black, his hair the exact hue of sunshine, his eyes molten gold. He smiled softly at her, taking a big swig of his liquor. _Jace Herondale_.

"Only a little." Clary knew that to be a lie. Jace Herondale was one of the biggest racers in the history of snocross. He beat Sebastian on a daily basis and never let him hear the end of it. And she hated him…or at least she thought she did. Her heart fluttered in her chest, though, as she looked at him for the first time up close. He was beautiful, with chiseled features that could only be described as a mold of God himself. She could see the outline of perfect abs through his shirt, and cords of hard muscle worked its way up his arms, shifting with the slightest motion, making Clary's mouth run dry with desire.

His modesty startled her. Why wouldn't he brag about his fame? List all his awards to get the ladies the way Sebastian would have? Instead of boasting about his skills, he merely turned to her with a soft, enticing gaze, locking her shocked green eyes against his golden ones. His perfectly symmetrical lips puckered a little before, in a voice as slow and smooth as honey, he asked, "Do you?"

Clary felt the weight of his eyes on her, conscious of the slight upward turn of her nose, the way it was just a little crooked from falling out of a tree when she was younger, of the marring of freckles that speckled it. She tried to keep the blush at bay, knowing it was only a matter of time before her cheeks turned pink, the rest of her body soon to follow.

Her teeth clacked as he mouth opened and closed a few times, contemplating a reply. "I…used to," she finally settled on, knowing that her little rendezvous with the track the last night did not count. Jace made a humming noise in the back of his throat, sending electricity through her core as he tapped his fingers against the rim of his glass.

"Trail rider?" Clary shook her head, the unfamiliar length of her loose ringlets brushing against her wrists.

"Snocross." Jace nodded in approval, his pink tongue darting out to dampen his lips. Clary had to physically suppress a moan as she squeezed her thighs tighter together. _You hate this man_, she reminded herself mentally. _Sebastian hates him, so you do to_. But, as always, there was that nagging in the back of her mind, the one that disagreed with everything she said. _Sebastian is an asshole that you aren't sure you want back. You deserve some fun._ Clary shook her head, feeling her buzz increasing as she finished her drink.

She was a handsy drunk, but it still surprised her as she reached out and brushed her fingertips against his, giggling lightly at the warmth shooting between their skin. Jace's eyebrows rose, but he didn't move away. Actually, he shifted closer, their lips only inches apart. Clary could feel his warm breath, the mint of his toothpaste mixed with the whiskey an odd but alluring scent. Every nerve in her body shouted at her to close the gap, to press their lips together and beg him to kiss her all over. But she wasn't like that. She didn't give herself to men, not anymore. From now on, men would give themselves to her. She jerked her body away from Jace and called for a shot of blackberry brandy, the familiar burn a welcomed feeling in her throat as she threw it back. Putting her glass down with a definite thunk, she winked at him and sauntered onto the dance floor, hoping that eventually he would follow.

He watched the redhead grind on a brute of a man, with a nose that was extremely too small for his face and hair the color of algae. Melorn, he knew the man's name to be, since the girl shouted it out every few seconds. Her ass was tight against his junk, arms looped around the back of his neck as his lips nipped at her ear. It was disgusting. It was almost fornication. It should have been Jace.

Oh, sure, he'd scanned the expanse of the club, hoping and searching for another woman to catch his eye, but his gaze always seemed to fall on _her_. He pressed his head between his fingers, as if the pressure would rid him of these feelings forming in his stomach. _Maybe that fluttery feeling is just vomit_, he told himself, though he knew it to be a lie. He never got sick from alcohol. One of Jace Herondale's many talents was his ability to hold his booze.

It _had _to be her. Exactly how many redheaded snocross racers could be found in northern Wisconsin? One. And it was her. He watched as the man turned around and kissed her hard on the lips. She looked hesitant, didn't kiss him back, but she allowed him to kiss her. He didn't even seem to notice.

"Excuse me," Jace grumbled as he slid between the pair, effectively separating them. He didn't know how he'd gotten so far across the room in such a short amount of time, but it didn't matter. He looked down and saw curious green eyes roaming her face. He found himself memorizing it, noticing every small detail, like how she had one freckle on her left eyelid, and how her nose was slightly hooked at the end, and how small dimples dug into her cheeks as he smiled.

God, he was turning into a woman. He just had to lay this girl, just get her into bed and everything would be alright. He rested his hands against her hips, surprisingly defined for someone of her small stature. He found himself falling into the normal routine. It would start with the wooing. "May I have this dance," he said, the way he always did while getting with girls in this setting.

"I guess," she said, a bit disinterested. Definitely not the 'of course, you godly man' response he was used to, but it wasn't a no. _This girl isn't any different_, he had to tell himself. You are horny. You are on the hunt, and she is the prey.

He dug deep within himself to drag out the womanizing charm that he hadn't had to use in a while, since so many women just leapt into his bed whether he was nice or not. He leaned down a couple inches, pressing his lips to her ear, fanning his warm breath across her skin in a way that made most women shiver. She didn't disappoint in that area as he body reacted to him. She could hide her attraction in her verbal responses, but her body gave the cues that he wanted. "You look gorgeous."

"Thanks," she stammered out, her eyes lazily trailing across his face as he moved them to the beat. Maybe he should turn her around, let her crash her amazing backside against him, let her move her hips to the music, but he surprisingly didn't want to. He wanted to look into her eyes, to register how every one of his actions made her feel. He lifted her shirt a bit, brushing the pad of his thumb along her hip bone. She gasped lightly, and Jace smirked.

They danced late into the night, the partners around them gyrating and shifting and ever changing, but both she and Jace denied new partners. Soon, they knew how each other's bodies moved, how they worked together to make music with their bodies. "What do you say we get out of here?" Jace breathed into the skin of her neck. Electricity hummed between their bodies, drawing them closer together.

Her response was breathy, taking a minute for her to get it out. "You don't even know my name." Jace chuckled, dragging a finger up her side and tucking it into her curls.

"My name is Jace. What's yours?"

"Clary." Jace smirked at how easily that response came. Her answers before had all been thought through, pondered momentarily before falling from her lips. He wished she would just spit out the first thing that came to her mind. It made it feel more real, like she didn't have to create an entire lie before answering his questions.

"Well, _Clary_," he said, trying her name on his tongue, enjoying the hardness of the C, the way the rest seemed to just roll out after it. It was cute, perfect for this redhead in front of him. "my place or yours?" He watched Clary glance behind her toward, a nerdy looking boy sucking face with a black-haired girl.

"Yours." Jace nodded at her with a grin, placing his hand on the small of her back as he led her through the crowd.

Clary's mind was fuzzy. She remembered stepping out of the truck with Jace Herondale, but as she stumbled up the cracked sidewalk to a shaky farmhouse, Clary realized that she could not for the life of her remember where they were going. Was this Jace's house? She asked him, and he chuckled a little, nodding as he fumbled with the keys. His brows were furrowed as if he were nervous about something. Why would he be nervous? She wasn't anything special. Small frame, small assets, fire engine hair that was getting a bit knotted in the cold wind. She snuggled tighter into Jace's leather jacket. He'd let her borrow it while they waited for the truck to heat up.

"This is an awesome truck," she'd said in awe as she looked in the side mirrors at the exhaust puffing black. Jace had smirked at her, telling her she had good taste as he curved down several gravel roads.

Now, Jace led her into his house. Clary was too tipsy to notice anything other than the eerie neatness of the place, like someone had meticulously cleaned it just before they'd stepped in. "You're…you're not going to kill me, are you?" she asked as they walked up a set of creaky stairs. She wanted to slap herself as Jace chuckled. That is _not_ something a person should ask their potential killer.

"No, I'm not going to kill you."

"Good," Clary nodded in approval, that sentiment somehow being enough for her drunken mind. They reached the end of a narrow hallway, and Jace pushed through, revealing a king sized bed with a plain brown comforter, drawn tightly on all the edges, not a wrinkle in sight. Clary wanted to sprawl out on top of it, to rest her head on the fluffy pillows, and sleep for ages. Alcohol made her tired, which was a reason she'd never party much.

Jace, though, had other plans on his mind as he settled his hands on her hips, his perfect lips descending on hers at an excruciatingly slow pace. Her tiredness was gone as she blinked at him, her lips puckering a little, awaiting the softness of his.

In all reality, she'd only agreed to come to his place hoping a night with another man, Jace Herondale at that, would help her forget about Sebastian. She hoped that it would be like a silent _fuck you_ to the man that had made her life hell. But now, she wasn't sure that was right. For either Sebastian or Jace. If she got with Jace, there would be no going back for her and Sebastian, and Jace…he didn't seem like the relationship kind of guy. Rumor was he was a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of man, especially with snow bunnies.

Those thoughts melted away as their lips finally touched, electricity sparking between their conjoined skin. Her lips molded perfectly against his, moving rhythmically. One of his hands came up to cup the back of her neck, to lift her head up and deepen the kiss. The other moved lower, squeezing her ass lightly as they backed up toward the bed. She giggled as he backed her up a little too far, and they toppled onto the bed. Jace managed to hold his weight off her with his elbows, his eyes scanning hers before he rolled to the side, pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily.

"Jace?" she squeaked, feeling suddenly stripped to the core, dejectedly rolling onto her side to get away from him.

"I can't do it." She felt torn at his words. Maybe she should be grateful that he couldn't have a one-night-stand with her, that he couldn't go through with everything. But it still hurt like hell, to be rejected in a way like that. It hurt worse than when Sebastian hit her, than when he forced himself into her. It was like an internal wound being ripped open slowly at the stitches. "I can't take advantage of you while you're drunk."

Those words sank into her slowly, like syrup moving through her veins. Jace had struck her as many things as she watched him from afar, with arrogant and rude topping the list. But never had she thought that he would be modest and moralistic. Never had she thought that Jace Herondale would deny her sex simply because she had a few too many drinks. Then again, never had she though Jace Herondale would want her for sex. "Can we just sleep then?" she found herself slurring as she burrowed under Jace's perfectly made covers. She felt, rather than saw, Jace's nod as he lifted the cover's beside her, his warm body occupying the space against her back. She snuggled against him and felt his lips beneath her ear. "Goodnight, Jace."

"Goodnight, Clary."

* * *

_Sooooo close ;) next time, lovelies. But for now...review?_

_All My Love_

_~Ballin(not-so)Blonde21_


	5. Chapter 5

_One more update before I move into college tomorrow? Question: where, readers, do you want to go, go, or have gone to college? Just curious! :) enjoy!_

* * *

Jace rolled over to a fiery ball of red, snoring softly on his other pillow. He cringed, his arm tingling beneath the weight of her small body. She looked so peaceful in slumber, her features smooth and soft, contrasting greatly with the feisty energy she'd expressed at the bar. She'd been so beautiful, a radiant sun among the other dim celestial bodies. He should have slept with her. He should have gotten it out of his system.

She shifted lightly, giving Jace the prime opportunity to remove his pained arm, but he didn't. He wanted to touch her, wanted to feel the soft way her body moved as she breathed, wanted to trace the contours of her collar bones, wanted to marvel at the way the sun streaked perfectly through her hair.

He really should have fucked her. The tightness in his boxer shorts told him as much. He should have taken her. She was willing…drunk…but still willing. Obviously she wanted him, who wouldn't? He was like a golden angel sent from heaven above. And to top it all of…he was a sex god.

He growled internally at himself at his uninhibited desire to be with this girl. Not just to be _in _this girl, but to be _with _her. To spend time with her. To get to know her. To make her smile the way she was at whatever dream she was having. To memorize her laugh. To know the map of her skin.

He really needed to snap out of it. He breathed out heavily, rustling a few of the curls that had fallen over Clary's face. That simple motion elicited a noise from her mouth, something that sent a jolt of excitement straight to Jace's stiff member. She was moaning. She was smiling and moaning. She was having a wet dream. And he couldn't squash the wish for it to be him. He wanted to make her moan like that, to make his name fall from her lips, whether it be in soft pants or in shrill screams. He wanted that so bad that it was painful. He exhaled forcefully through his teeth, trying to think of anything to push his excitement down before she saw.

But it was too late. Clary was shifting, pulling closer to him, throwing one leg over his waist, his sex pressing into hers. Her eyes snapped open quickly, her body tensing as blush that could only be described as adorable crept up her pale cheeks. It was obvious that she had no clue where she was.

She looked disoriented as she discreetly tried to detangle herself from Jace, as she slowly looked around the room, trying to name her location. Jace could see her fear when she came up short.

"Hey," he said softly, pulling away from her and blinking as if he, too, had just woken up, as if he hadn't spent all night creepily staring at her, pondering what a life with her would be like. He might as well just have stalker tattooed across his forehead.

"Where am I?" she asked quickly, her voice edged with a little too much venom. It was forced. Jace could tell. She wasn't angry at all. There was too much fright in her to be mad. She was practically shaking.

"It's okay. You're at my house." Her eyes met Jace's, the terrified expression making the stone walls around his heart crumble just a bit more. He knew her name, but not her story. He could tell that she had suffered. That one look said it all. The look that was so raw and open and afraid. He really wanted to kick the shit out of the man that put it there. "Nothing happened. I promise." He felt her body relax a bit at his words, her eyes blinking slowly as she brought a hand up to smooth her unruly curls. Jace hoped that he couldn't see the mesmerized way he watched her, that she couldn't tell that he wanted to run his hands through her hair. He looked away quickly as her eyes drifted back to him. "Besides, you'd be feeling it right now if anything did go down." Clary snorted at his insinuation, making him deflate a bit. His cocky demeanor was hard to maintain around her, and that wasn't good.

She kicked the covers off, rubbing her eyes lightly, making Jace realize that all her makeup was gone, not a trace remaining on her pale, freckled face. And she was still quite honestly the most beautiful women he'd ever laid eyes on. "I'm sorry for hogging all the covers," she said quietly as she shoved heaps of blankets at him. He hadn't even noticed that he hadn't had a scrap of blankets on him last night, his body completely warmed by just being in the general vicinity of hers. This wasn't good. His thoughts weren't normal, thrown off their usual, sex-driven course by the strange infatuation he had with her. He really wanted to ask if she was the girl he'd seen on the track, but the thought scared him. Maybe she'd run if he did. Maybe that was a personal moment of hers not to be shared with some random stranger. "I should go," she whispered almost disappointedly, looking down at Jace's hand. He must have reached for hers while he was thinking, his big fingers curled around her frail ones, holding on tightly as if she was the only thing that could keep him on the earth.

He'd held off last night because she was drunk, but what was stopping them now? Just the barriers of clothing they were wearing. His hooded gaze shifted to her face, finding her eyes wide. He could hear her heart hammering in her chest, could sense her arousal. It was intoxicating, invigorating, the same way that snocross was. And that terrified him. Hit it and quit it didn't seem to fit what he wanted with this woman. He wanted to lay her down and pleasure her the way only a real man can, to touch her until her eyes rolled back into her head in ecstasy, to taste her lips as his cock thrust into her.

From the heavy gaze she was giving him, she wanted that right now, too. "Clary," Jace breathed her name for the third time. This time was different though. It seemed more sensual, the way her name vibrated their bodies as her flipped her over onto her back, pressing every inch of him lightly against her.

Clary reacted, her lips finding purchase against his pulse point, a foreign sort of pleasure rippling through him like a tidal wave. He groaned quietly, knowing if he didn't reign in his thoughts, he wouldn't be able to last long. He rolled his body against hers, smirking at the soft moan that fell from her lips. He kissed her open mouth. Her lips were soft against his but didn't quite yield to his every movement the way girls usually did. She set her own pace, forcing him to follow her cues.

She'd bite his lower lip and tug it away, teasing it with the tip of her tongue in a way that nearly drove Jace insane. She'd resist giving him access, making him just kiss her passionately for awhile before finally granting him access. And he capitalized on the opportunity.

She tasted just as perfect as she looked. Like sweetness and liquor and something completely indescribable. Jace tangled one of his fingers into her bountiful curls, caressing her tongue with his, capturing her soft moans with his mouth, the noises reverberating through his body straight to his growing excitement. "Tell me, Clary," he whispered against her open mouth, placing chaste kisses everywhere except her lips. "Was it me you were dreaming about?" A slow smile spread across her face as she dropped one eyelid in a slow wink. Her face was flushed, her body screaming for him, yet she somehow still had the composure to wink. He had to change that. "You're going to regret that," he growled playfully as he stripped her of her shirt, admiring the _Sled Bitch_ writing for a minute before returning his gaze to Clary.

She wore a simple bra, nothing like the skimpy lingerie he was used to, but it was nice. Her breasts were small, but fit perfectly into the palm of his hand, allowing him to pleasure her even more as he massaged them, his fingers flicking over her cotton-covered nipple, making her gasp a bit in surprise. Another signature smirk adorned his face as she reached up and pulled off his shirt, giving her a full view of his chest. The awe in her eyes gave him the familiar swell of pride, but the way her fingers skimmed lightly across his skin, followed by feather-light kisses, made him want to crumble. He wanted to curl up by her, to protect her from the outside world as she touched him that way. He silently wondered if he was the only one she'd ever touched that way. "Jace." Her voice was breathy as her fingers reached the edge of his boxers, his hard manhood nearly bursting from the thin fabric. She tugged at the elastic, and he got the message.

She wanted them off. But he wasn't through with her yet. He shook his head lightly, reaching around to unclasp her bra, casting it quickly aside as his face descended upon her left breast. He took her supple nipple into his mouth, rolling it through his teeth as her body writhed beneath him. His fingers reached up to her right nipple and mimicked his mouth's ministrations, causing all sorts of dirty words to come out of Clary's mouth. Each curse was like a shot straight to his dick, making him want her even more.

She was so unrestrained, relenting to his movements without any attempt to reciprocate, feeling him instead of trying to own him. His mouth moved to her other breast, giving it the same amount of attention before Clary finally begged him to touch her. God, that was all he really wanted to do.

He kissed a line down her belly, undoing the button of her jeans with his teeth, a little trick he'd learned a long time ago, though he usually didn't perform, not wanting any girl to feel too special. But right now, as Clary glanced down through red lashes at his head between her jean-covered legs, he wanted to show her everything he could do to her. He stripped her of her jeans quickly, casting aside the rainbow-colored panties with a crooked grin at her blushing face. "I liked them!" he protested as she tried to hide her green face in embarrassment. After failing at gently prying her hands away from her eyes, Jace flicked the sensitive nub between her legs, grinning in triumph as her palms left her face to fist the sheets on either side of her. He did it again, faster, creating a rhythm as he enjoyed the way she moved at his touch. She pushed herself into his finger, making him rub harder, faster circles. Her breathing was erratic, growing shorter and heavier with every second.

Swiftly, he pushed his middle finger inside of her, watching her eyes roll back into her head as he curled it. "Jace," she breathed in a higher-pitch than normal. He didn't slow down, though his eyes locked onto hers. She was looking at him with so much pleasure in her eyes that Jace wanted to share that feeling of ecstasy. But not yet. He pulled his finger out, slowly lowering his head until he was situated right in front of her most private part. He glanced up quickly, as if to ask for permission. The look in her eyes was almost pleading him to continue.

He moved his tongue along the length of her sex, her taste the most heavenly thing he's ever had. He _never_ went down on girls. He usually found the though quite repulsive. But he _wanted_ to do this for Clary. He _wanted_ to share this experience with her, to watch her face twist and contort in pleasure as he worked his tongue against her. And as he glanced up at her face, he was satisfied. He could see her climax coming in the way she tensed up, in the way she exhaled in quick, short puffs, in the way she kept repeating his name like a mantra. "Jace," she said with a sense of alarm, as if she'd never felt this feeling before. The thought of giving Clary her first orgasm made Jace's cock throb in his boxers. He blew cool breath across her intimate area, watching her face contort as she prepared to explode.

"It's okay, Clary. Come for me," he whispered, his eyes locking onto hers.

And she did. She moaned his name loudly as her fists nearly ripped holes through his sheets. Her whole body wracked as the wave of pleasure rolled through her, her face contented as she slowly came down from her high.

Jace was aroused, moving up to watch her closely. Her orgasm face was like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was pure bliss as she flew to that high place that he'd brought her to. He watched as she drifted down from it, her eyes fluttering open with a small smile on her lips. "That was amazing," she breathed, her chest heaving up and down. Jace gave her a genuine smile, reaching down to link his fingers with hers, just wanting to touch her. His cock desired more, but if she wasn't willing, Jace wasn't going to take. He wouldn't be that man.

"Have you…have you never experienced that before?" Clary's flushed face became even redder as she shook her head, curls falling in front of her eyes in an attempt to hide herself. Jace brushed them away quickly. "Don't be embarrassed, Clary. I'm glad that I could do that for you." Clary nodded slowly, pushing the curls from her face with a big sigh.

"Do you want me to…?" she whispered shyly, her hands reaching down toward his strained dick. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to see it in her tiny hands. But he didn't want to pressure her.

"Nah, you don't have to." She nodded, looking a little bit relieved as she pulled her clothes back on. "Do you…need a ride home?" Another nod. Jace smiled at her, something he rarely did with girls who denied him. Granted, he had cockblocked himself. But still. He pulled on his clothes and led her out the front door, his head still dizzy with this morning's events.

* * *

"Oh…my…god. Clary…you got laid!" Those were the first words out of Isabelle's mouth as she breezed in through the door. Clary couldn't blame Isabelle for her assumption. She was wearing rumpled clothes from yesterday; she'd been out all night; her phone burned in her pocket with Jace's number recently added; and it did appear that she had sex hair. But it wasn't exactly true.

"No," was all she said was she rummaged through the cabinets for a box of cereal. She didn't really want to give Isabelle the low-down of this morning's events. She was a bit ashamed that she'd allowed that to happen. She hadn't exactly broken things off the Sebastian, and while she hadn't slept with Jace, she'd just let him give her an orgasm. She was the best girlfriend in the world.

"Spill," Isabelle said as she blocked her way to the fridge. Isabelle was 6'1" and 150lbs of pure muscle. There was no way Clary was going to get around.

"Alright, alright," Clary said, putting the box of cheerios on the countertop, leaning back on her elbows. "Some guy took me home, and we just fooled around."

"Fooled around as in played monopoly, or fooled around as in gave each other mind-blowing orgasms." Clary blushed at Isabelle's brashness, unwillingly giving her friend the answer she wanted. "You so did the second one. What was his name?"

"J," Clary replied instantly, not wanting to give Isabelle the full details.

"Last name?"

"I…I don't know," Clary muttered, coming up short with a lie for that one. Isabelle just smirked, making Clary blush more as she remembered Jace smirking between her legs.

"You naughty, girl." Isabelle slid out of Clary's way, tapping her fingernails against the stone countertops as she continued talking. "Well, I have to work in twenty minutes, so we will continue this conversation later." She winked as she grabbed her purse, twirling her keys around her finger. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she added before closing the door behind her.

Clary groaned, munching loudly on her cereal since no one was around to complain. She felt so terrible. She felt like she'd cheated on Sebastian, as if she'd be labeled as unfaithful for the rest of her life. As if on cue, Clary's phone chimed with a new message.

It was an email update from her schedule, telling her that there was a race about 100 miles north of where she lived. Had she still been completely strung out over Sebastian, she would have been hopping around as she pulled on her snow gear, excitedly sending Sebastian a good luck text as she pushed her keys into the ignition and pulled out of the garage.

But today wasn't like any other day. She didn't want to see Sebastian. She didn't want to be near him. She didn't want to talk to him. She just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep the day away.

But Jace might be at the race. Clary wondered why he hadn't mentioned anything that morning. He hadn't even mentioned that he was a professional sno-x racer. She knew he had to be going. He never missed an opportunity to kick Sebastian's ass at anything, and for once, Clary wanted to go and root him on.

But that was the tricky part. Clary didn't know what her and Jace were. Was last night a casual hookup that might turn into one or two more? Was it a one night stand never to be spoken of again? Was it the beginning of a friends with benefits type relationship? Clary knew one thing for sure. She wasn't ready to enter another romantic relationship. She didn't trust men with her heart. Jace had showed her that she could trust him with her sexual desires, but her heart—she wasn't so gung-ho on giving out again. She sank down onto the couch and found a movie on TV, opting to skip this one race, texting Sebastian for the first time since her heart really shattered.

**It's over.**

Two words and a period. Three words if the contraction was counted. But that's it. That's all her four year relationship came to. A text message to sever the ties they shared, a changed Facebook relationship status, several comments asking why, a message from her mother wondering if she was alright. No reply from her ex-boyfriend. He might be already racing, but a few pictures surfacing on her newsfeed showed him out with a bunch of half-naked women the night before. He was already moving on.

Suddenly, Clary didn't feel so shitty for allowing herself one moment of happiness. She closed down the Facebook app, pulling up her messages and punching one out to the golden god that hat given that moment to her.

**Finish what we started tonight?**

She punched out with shaky hands, wondering if she should add a few x's and o's or a winking face, but after deciding that it wasn't like her at all to do such a thing, she set in, steeling her nerves for whatever reply might come.

**I have a few things going on today, but I think I can squeeze you in. Say...9?**

Clary released a breath at his quick response. That was a good sign, right? Sometimes Sebastian took hours to respond, sometimes he didn't even reply at all. A few seconds was a good sign. Clary knew the "things" Jace was referring to were races, but she didn't mention that as she responded with the affirmative. As she slid onto the couch and found a movie on TV, her whole body buzzed with excitement at what the night may hold.

* * *

_So...sexy scene because you lovelies deserve it. YOU GO, GLEN COCO (I imagined the movie Clary was watching was _Mean Girls_.) Anyways...Review?_

_All My Love_

_~BallinBlonde21_

_(I'm a brunette now, though...for the record...I just feel like I need to keep reminding you all, so I'm not living this big lie...*sigh*)_


	6. Chapter 6

_Okay, lovelies! Update! Sorry for the wait, I'm just starting to figure this college shit out :/ but I should be able to update some more now! I'd like to thank all my readers for their encouraging messages and reviews! So...Enjoy!_

* * *

Jace's eyes swept over the track the way had so many times before, mapping the valleys and the hills. His mind racing to predict the speed he'd need to travel to clear the triples, judging if he could backflip off the tabletop. His normal focus was there, going through the mechanics of preparing for tonight's race, but something was different. As he envisioned himself gliding across the track, bouncing over the mounds of snow, _she_ was there beside him, her thumb punching the throttle a little more, pushing Jace to go faster just to keep up. He barely paid attention to maintaining his speed though, as he got lost in her mesmerizing appearance. Like the last time he'd watched her ride, she wasn't wearing a helmet, leaving her hair to tangle in red streaks behind her, brilliant against the snow, like fire colliding with ice. Her machine roared ahead of his, the distance between them growing as he slowed down just to watch her, to memorize the fearless way she soared above the whoops, to see her body shift to accommodate the impact, to meet her gaze as her head swiveled in his direction, one lid dropping in a slow wink. She was so graceful, the way her body moved with the sled, as if they converged into one being as she rode, two separate entities binding seamlessly together to maneuver the track. It made him wonder what it was like to be one with Clary, not just physically, but mentally. To truly know her, all her flaws and quirks, all her hopes and aspirations, all her joys and fears—just…everything. And that scared him, wholly and truly.

Jace had lost so many pieces of himself to people who didn't deserve them. He lost one to his whore of a mother who ran out on him at the age of five, leaving him for a man who'd bought her love in the form of shiny diamonds and big mansions. This put him in the brutal care of his biological father, someone he'd lost so much to in his short life with him. His childhood, his innocence, his unmarred flesh—all had been torn away at the enraged and bloodied hands of his father, taken in moments of weakness, of feeble struggle by a child no more than six. The resounding, familiar crack echoed in his ears as he imagined the edge of the belt eating into his skin, felt the blood oozing down his back, his screams silenced by the suffocating cloth jammed down his throat—

"Dude!" Alec shouted over the roaring in Jace's ears, his voice slicing through the memories that Jace had shoved into the depths of his mind for so long. Jace blinked at his brother, clearing away the haze from his vision as he took in Alec's concerned expression. "Are you okay?" Jace unclenched his fists slowly, seeing the crescent moons of blood springing to the surface as his nails retracted. He turned his bloodied palms away from Alec, knowing his brother didn't need to see that. Though Jace had never confided his entire past to anyone, not even to the many psychologists he'd visited, he suspected Alec knew a few details, probably from Maryse, who, despite Jace's many requests, had read the police files on Stephen Herondale's arrest. It wasn't pretty. It was dark and sinister and steadily ate away at any light left in Jace's soul. Jace feared that one day his light would extinguish, that he'd be gone, a shell of the man he could have become, going through the motions of living but never really being alive.

"Yeah, I'm good," he responded coolly, sticking his hands deep into his coat pockets. The chill had seeped into his bones, an indication of just how long he'd been staring out at the empty track, pondering his meaning of his existence. He shook his head, puffing out his cheeks and releasing a heavy breath of white smoke, watching it disperse into the air. He toed the snow with his boot. He didn't feel like there was any good left in him. No hope. No laughter. No love. Could he give himself to someone if there was nothing left to give? No.

"You alright if I leave?" Alec asked, making Jace glance back at him. He had a pencil tucked behind his ear, hair sticking out in every direction as he flicked through a thick stack of flashcards, muttering words and meanings to himself as he awaited Jace's response. Alec so often did this, lost himself in the world of scientific definitions and education, disappearing completely into his desire for knowledge. Jace envied that, that Alec found something he enjoyed so much that he could just forget everything around him. The past, the present, the future—all dissolved away, giving Alec serenity in its absence, leaving him alone to study his vocabulary.

Of course, Jace had snocross, something so invigorating and exhilarating that it almost took away the darkness that cloaked him, almost thawed his frozen heart with the friction of excitement. _Almost_. But it was always there, eating away at him, slowly and surely. It was always present, in the form of a mocking comment or a nudge on the right scar.

"Yeah, man. I've got this." Alec stared at Jace for a moment, squinting as if he could see right through the calm façade, though it might have been due to the rays of the setting sun filling his line of vision. After a moment, Alec nodded, grabbing his backpack from Jace's sled and hitching it higher onto his shoulders as he headed toward his car. A few people nodded at him in recognition, greeting him by name, stopping to shake his hand. Nobody ever did that to Jace. He was the child of a murderer, exhiled by his father's hatred, an outcast because of his lineage. Jace watched Alec disappear into the horizon before ducking into his trailer, blowing hot air onto his fingers to warm them.

He didn't know what to do. Clary had texted him earlier, asking him to finish what they started, and in a moment of stupidity, he'd agreed. What happened to his rule of one night only? What happened to never giving the girl his number? He shook his head, muttering profanities at himself as he plopped down into a chair, combing his fingers through his hair. _We didn't have sex_, he told himself. _You just have to lay her, and then you'll be fine_. His brain may have told him that, but even he didn't believe it. Clary was different, seeping into his deepest thoughts, making him rethinking his most basic morals, the set of rules he's stuck to for his entire life. She made him think about his past, wonder if it really did affect his future. Worst of all, she made him want her. A lot. And that was not something he was used to.

He couldn't be with her, though, not really. He'd just isolate her, too, sever any bonds she may have with people who knew of him, of his father. That would hurt him, to have her hurt simply by associating herself with him. He didn't know why, but some part of him yearned for her, felt for her, wanted her. Before, he hadn't believed that any of those feelings were left in him, and Clary brought out the little that were left. Maybe if she found out about his past, she'd run away before any of that could happen, before he could damage her reputation the way his father had damaged his. But that would hurt him, too, rip away the newfound emotions, steal the only humanity Jace had left. He didn't know what to do.

"Damn it," he cursed, kicking over an empty oil can as he realized it was time to race. God, nobody had ever distracted him from snocross this much, and she wasn't even there with him. He threw open his trailer door, slipping his tether over his wrist as he tripped down the stairs and stumbled over to his sled. Jamming the key into place, he roared off toward the track.

* * *

"Clary, just tell me his name!" Isabelle loomed over Clary's reflection, making Clary's hands shake as she attempted to apply eyeliner. "For God's sake, Clary, this is painful." Isabelle snatched the pencil from Clary's grasp and swept her fingers beneath Clary's eyes. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration as she traced the perfect cat eyes onto Clary's lids. She made a voila motion with her fingers as she put the pencil back in the makeup case. "Seriously, Clary, you wouldn't put makeup on for the _President_. Who is this guy you're trying to seduce?" Clary scowled at her friend, who merely hopped up onto the countertop, making herself comfortable.

"A," Clary said, ticking it off on her fingertip, "I would not be trying to _seduce_ the President. He's married! And, B, I don't want to screw it up by telling you." Isabelle waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Clary wacked her on the thigh.

"Got some Romeo and Juliette shit going on here, huh?" Clary wacked her again, arranging her hair into a messy bun in the mirror, swelling a bit with pride when she got Isabelle's nod of approval. "Come on, I just want to know it's not—"

"It's not Sebastian," Clary said, cutting her off with a harsh glare. "We are over…officially." Isabelle's eyes widened fractionally before she finally regained her composure. Clary could tell she was suppressing her desire to do a happy dance.

"Like Facebook officially, officially?" Clary nodded as she swiped some lip gloss across her mouth, forming a pink pout. "In that case, let me loan you some lingerie!" Clary half-gasped, half-laughed at her friend, immediately pointing out that Isabelle was at least three cup-sizes larger than Clary. Plus, Isabelle didn't need to know what she had on under her plain jeans and t-shirt. She wanted to be naughty. Jace made her want to be that way. Jace made her want him the way she had never wanted Sebastian. "Here," Isabelle said, pulling Clary out of her improper thoughts of Jace's golden body. She was presented with two simple diamond studs, which she slipped into her ears, adding the perfect amount of sparkle to what was underneath. Isabelle smiled at her as she slipped out of the bathroom. Clary could hear her grab her purse and close the front door.

She blew a rogue curl from in front of her eyes, staring at the girl in the mirror. She looked fierce. She looked strong. She looked whole, untarnished by the man who'd wronged her in so many ways. And she was determined to keep it that way, to no longer wear her heart on her sleeve, to never give her love to someone unworthy. She wouldn't be broken, wouldn't shrink back. She refused. After brushing a quick coat of mascara onto her lashes and running her toothbrush quickly over her teeth, she left, driving toward Jace's house without a single look back.

* * *

The roaring in Jace's ears didn't originate from the cheering crowd as he sailed over the finish line. It did not come from the screams of lovestruck women swooning over his beauty. It did not rise from the throats of outraged spectators loyal to their favorite riders. No, this white noise in his brain came from one sole stimulus, the only thing that could possibly distract him from the glory of a victory, the only girl to have ever caught his attention for more than one night. Clary.

It was her red curls he kept imagining brushing against his cheek as the scantily clad snow princesses pressed up against him for a champion picture. It was her hands that he wanted to hold instead of the cold, lifeless trophy. He steered his sled swiftly back toward his trailer, finding himself eager to get to her, his entire body itching to hold her. _After tonight, it will be gone_, he told himself. After tonight, everything would be back to normal. "Hey, Rapunzel!" Jace froze where he was, awaiting the attack that was sure to come. He'd won, and Sebastian had lost. A few punches were bound to be thrown. When the impact never came, Jace slowly turned around, his leisurely gaze meeting stone-black eyes.

"Yes, Princess?" Jace couldn't help the sarcasm slipping into his voice, though he knew Sebastian was ready to crack. He looked worse than usual, dark circles rimming both eyes from lack of sleep, fists clenched, vein in his neck throbbing as his lip twitched in anger. "Did you need something?" Jace couldn't help the bit of panic flaring in his chest. The look was all too familiar, one so deep with threats, devoid of fear or compassion. The same emotions painted in those gold eyes from his nightmares. The same eyes that Jace feared his own would turn into some day.

"You jumped the start," Sebastian snarled, spittle splashing against Jace's face, which he dramatically wiped away with a roll of his eyes. Same shit, different day.

"Sure, I did, Princess. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be." Jace tried to shuffle around Sebastian, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Ah, you've brought your goons this time." Sebastian smirked, flanked by his right-hand-men, the ones who helped him beat up Jace because Sebastian couldn't do it alone. Jordan's left cheek was bruised from an earlier fight, and Raphael's lip was split, swollen a bit from someone's punch. Weaknesses. Jace's targets.

He waited for the first punch to be thrown. He would never be one to start a fight, but he'd always finish one. And when the opening came in the form of Jordan's fist, Jace dodged to the left, knuckles skimming his right cheek as he drove his shoulder forward, knocking Jordan off balance as Raphael pounced. It was easy enough to down him. A scrawny little thing with toothpicks for arms—he was down with the first punch to his mouth, blood gushing from his old wound, accompanied by that of a fresh cut. Jace kicked Jordan back down as he tried stumbling to his feet. "I'd stay down if I were you," Jace grumbled, glaring at Sebastian.

Sebastian had to be used to this by now. Jace never lost. Not even when he was outnumbered. Losing wasn't in his blood, not anymore. Ever since he could fight back, he had. It was wired in his brain, a natural instinct from the years of abuse. He couldn't be beaten, broken. He wouldn't go down. "That all you got, Princess?" Jace expected Sebastian to lash out, to send sloppy, anger-driven punches his way, which he could easily deflect. What he didn't expect was the flash of metal as Sebastian pulled a knife from his pocket, dragging it across Jace's left cheek, leaving behind a stinging mark. Jace pushed Sebastian away swiftly, pressing the heel of his palm against his cheek to stop the blood. "What the fuck?" Sebastian had a twisted grin on his face as he wiped the bloodied knife against his jeans. Jace glowered, a retort on his tongue though his body was tense, ready to defend himself from another outburst.

"Don't even try to tell anyone. My dad has connections, and next time, it won't just be a knife."

"Is that a threat, Princess?" Sebastian's composure faltered for a bit before the wicked smile crept back onto his lips. His only response was a wink as he turned away, whistling quietly to himself as he went, his goons scrambling to follow.

Jace knew that no one had seen it, not in the darkness that had settled over the area, so he just slipped back into his trailer, probing his wound with his finger, ignoring the red blood spattering the floor. He'd thought he was long immune to the color crimson, thought the distress of the color red had been removed from his very core, until _she _came along. The red of her hair set his chest on fire, his nerve endings zinging, hoping for just one touch. That was probably because he didn't associate her hair color with the color of blood, though. He scratched the back of his neck, wondering if these feelings would go away if he did.

After a full inspection, he deemed his wound as just a flesh cut, nothing compared to what he'd suffered before. It shouldn't scar or take long to heal, but the progression of what began as sharp threats that turned to measly fist fights was nothing. The fact that they'd transformed into one-sided knife fights, though, was unsettling. Jace could defend himself in hand-to-hand combat, but if Sebastian ever managed to stab him, there wasn't anything Jace could do.

He refused to show weakness, to give Sebastian that triumph, and continued to pack his trailer. He _had _to get to her now, feel her soft embrace, see the real, live emotion in her eyes, forget Sebastian, forget the way his father looked at him so long ago. The mere thought sent shivers down his spine. Stephen Herondale from his jail cell could make Jace more afraid than Sebastian in front of him with a knife. It might have been the defenselessness he felt, or the void of love he should have felt from his father, but he would still fall to his father's feet and beg for mercy. He kicked some cans out of the way and hauled his sled in, lifting the ramp to close the back and locking it with a key.

As he stepped outside, there was a flash, a momentary spot of color from the inside of the RV. Red. A little stream flitting by the kitchen window, enough to propel Jace forward to investigate. He opened the door, met with pitch blackness. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the silhouette of the furniture, outlined be the silvery moonlight. And there she sat, oblivious to his entrance, completely serene as she peered through the glass, looking up at the pinpricks of light in the sky. The way she looked at the stars, so full of awe and wonder, would lead someone to believe she was looking through time, seeing the past and the future all in one place. He wanted her to look at him like that, like he was the most beautiful, extraordinary person she'd ever laid eyes on. She seemed mesmerized, the intrigued look on her face highlighted by the moonlight, her eyelashes casting dark shadows down her cheekbones, her pink lips forming a perfect pink pout as her fingers pressed against the glass, her body shifting to get a better look.

And that's when Jace saw it, the lacy lingerie set she was wearing. A black teddy made of completely see-through fabric "covered" her torso, stockings held up by garters leading down to red hot heels strapped to her feet.

"Beautiful," Jace murmured as he crept up next to her, watching her curls bounce as her head swiveled toward him, watching her chest rise with a sudden intake of breath, panic flashing across her eyes before recognition. Jace reached out and traced a finger down the side of her face, slipping his hand behind her head and tangling his fingers into her curls. She blinked up at him, the simple batting of her lashes putting Jace nearly over the edge. He leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth. "How did you know where to find me?"

She blushed, a bright pink color flooding her cheeks as she looked down at her clasped hands, covering up the scrap of fabric she was using to call panties. "I…I watched you today." Jace's brow furrowed slightly before she explained. "I watched you race snocross. Actually, I've seen you before…and you seemed," she fumbled for the word, "distracted today."

Jace shook his head, a small smirk playing at his lips. He saw a pile of outerwear deposited near the driver's seat of the RV. "Well…you could say that." It made his heart swell that she'd watched him race, that she'd seen him before, enough to know that he wasn't on his A-game. It was nice that she wasn't afraid to say it either. Most of the time it was just _Jace, you're so amazing_, and _Jace, you rode really fast_. And, although that was great for his ego, it didn't really attract him. Jace leaned in again and captured a gasp with a kiss, drawing her to her feet and leading her to his bedroom. "You're beautiful, Clary," Jace breathed against her lips as they sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes flickered between his, calculating his truthfulness, doubting herself the way he'd seen her do earlier that morning. "Trust me." And then he kissed her, guiding her lips in a slow pace, pushing her gently back onto the bed, hovering lightly above her, every inch of his body touching hers.

Jace's fingers played with a ruffle at her hip, as his tongue moved to caress hers. She responded with vigor, yanking down so he tumbled on top of her, fisting her hands into his hair, tugging at his golden locks. Jace kept his pace slow though, trailing his fingers up and down the length of her thigh, hearing her soft whimpers. "Shhh," he cooed as he lifted her to the center of the bed, tucking a curl behind her ear before pulling their lips together once more. She relaxed then, allowing his fingers to work their way around her exposed skin, following the pace he set as her fingers trailed up and down his back.

She was intoxicating, mesmerizing, making him dream of holding her, touching her for eternity. _Fuck_, he thought, dropping his face into the crook of her neck, placing chaste kisses against her heated skin. He was turning into a woman! He was focusing so much on her pleasure that he hadn't even taken off his shirt yet.

As if reading his mind, Clary tugged at his collar, and he pulled away, allowing her to draw it over his head and cast it aside. He gauged her reaction, the way he did with all women who were privileged enough to see him without a shirt. Her eyes didn't widen, didn't advert in bashfulness or cringe in disgust. She didn't do anything everyone else always had. She didn't ask where they came from, or if they hurt, or, his favorite, if they were contagious. Her eyes remained steadily on his, her fingers gently tracing over the exposed skin, gliding smoothly across the scars that he was so ashamed of, the ones that held this painful past in stories etched across his skin. And she didn't shy away.

Jace tangled his hand into her curls and drew their lips together once more, losing himself into these foreign and forgotten emotions as he stripped her, not like he was unwrapping a present for himself but rather like he was undressing a goddess. He did it slowly, massaging and kissing every inch of skin he could get to between Clary pulling their faces back together. He stroked her cheeks, whispered in her ear, nibbled at her pulse point and drinking in her squeal. He continued to cherish her, to provide for her, to let her feel while he waited patiently for a turn that may never come.

When it did, she was on her back, sprawled out before him in a sea of creamy skin, eyes screwed shut as soft whimpers fell from her mouth which Jace promptly absorbed with kisses, her whole body shaking as she floated down from her high. Then, her eyes opened, green and pure, as her pink mouth opened to whisper, "I want you, Jace."

And he gave himself to her.

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_I know it's been a long time, but can I get a review?_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hey, guys. Midterm week is a lie. It's midterm life! Anyways, between studying I was able to crank this out. I hope you enjoy!_

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Jace looked at his brother with concern, wondering why his skin was so green as he stood at the door of their parent's home. "Alec, just walk in. It's not like they're going to kick you out." An indecipherable look flashed in Alec's blue eyes before he shoved through the old door, the hinges groaning in protest as they stepped inside. "My babies!" Maryse crooned as Jace and Alec stepped through the door. "Oh, let me get a look at you!" Jace shook his head, but allowed himself to be held at an arm's length next to Alec as their mother scrutinized their appearance. He was wearing a white button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing his tanned, muscled arms. His jeans were dark, hanging low on his hips and his golden hair was a perfect tousle. Alec had opted for a crimson sweater and black slacks, surprisingly devoid of the holes that usually adorned Alec's apparel. Maryse patted their stomachs gently. "You boys are too thin. We'll fix that." Jace chuckled and placed a kiss on his mother's cheek, slipping past her to put down the cheese tray he'd brought.

"Jace, Alec," Robert greeted them with the stiff hugs he always gave, but they were warm and meaningful, so Jace always hugged him back, having been deprived of paternal love for his entire childhood. Alec's eyes shimmered lightly, and Jace's eyebrows furrowed as Robert patted his back, having a conversation with him too low for Jace to hear.

As he finally honed his ears in on Robert's words, a familiar smell filled the room. "Mom…" Jace said with alarm, heading toward the origin of the smell. "You didn't ask Iz to cook, did you?" Maryse's mouth fell open, and she rushed to follow Jace as he warily approached the kitchen.

"Fuck you, too, cookies!" they heard Isabelle yell as the fanned the smoke away from their faces. Isabelle was waving a towel in front of the oven, reaching in with an oven mitt to pull out the blackened desserts. "I followed the recipe to a T!" She groaned as Jace reached around her to turn on the hood vent and to open the windows. The acrid smoke slowly curled out into the cold air, leaving the kitchen with the stink of burnt cookies. Isabelle set the pan on the stove with a heavy sigh of defeat as Maryse moved to pat her back.

"Hey, look on the bright side, Iz," Jace said, an amused smile tugging at the edge of his lips, "at least nobody will have to pretend to enjoy your cooking." Both women shot him a glare, and Isabelle reached for the pan, picking up a charred snowman and chucking it in his direction. Jace couldn't contain his laughter as it hit the wall and didn't break. "Crisp," he mumbled as Isabelle poised to chuck another. "Stop, you're going to damage the goods!" He ducked around the hallway corner just as another cookie hit the wall behind where he'd been standing.

"Fuck you, Jace!" Isabelle screamed at his retreating figure. He walked into the living room and plopped down onto the couch next to Alec, accepting the beer he was offered. His brother raised an eyebrow as if to ask what all the ruckus was about, but Jace just shook his head, knowing Isabelle would be retelling the tale at least eight times over the course of the night. Instead, he reclined on the couch, tipping back his bitter drink as the sounds of _The Grinch Who Stole Christmas_ echoed in the silence.

"But dad!" they heard Max's voice carry from down the hallway. "Why can't my girlfriend come? Izzy's friend is coming!"

Jace leaned closer to the door and hollered, "You don't need a special invitation for your hand, Max!" He heard Robert's throaty chuckle as their footfalls retreated.

"Who's Isabelle's friend that's coming?" Alec shrugged, immersed in the world of Whoville, mumbling something about the one he met at one of the races.

"Ahhh, Verlac's girl." Jace grinned a bit, thinking that this night just might be fun.

"Jonathon!" Clary heard her mother chastise as she stepped through the threshold of her childhood home. The white, Victorian-style home nestled in a cul-de-sac smelled of cinnamon and caramel as she rounded the corner. She found Johnny looking sheepish by the wrapped gifts beneath the tree, his shameful eyes continuing to dart in their direction. Clary giggle quietly to herself, unnoticed, as she took in the sight of her mother bustling about the kitchen, a ruffled apron tied around the front of her evening wear. She had a bit of flour smeared on her cheek and her hair, which was twisted into a knot and held with two pencils.

"Boy, what did I tell you?" her father said, heaving himself from his recliner and swinging Jonathon over his shoulder, earning a peal of delight. "Don't peek at the presents when your mother is around. Do it after she's asleep."

"Valentine…" Jocelyn warned, turning her sharp green eyes on her husband before catching a glimpse of Clary's fiery curls. Her father reached her first, wrapping his lanky arms around her slim frame. "Have you grown?" her father teased, stepping back to twirl her in a circle. No matter how old she got, she was still an eight-year-old with skinned knees in her dad's eyes.

Her mother was next, smiling as she enveloped her eldest child in a warm embrace. "Oh, Clary, dear, you smell a bit like motor oil. Were you with Sebastian today?" The question was innocent enough, but Clary could hear the disapproval dripping from her mother's tone. Though Clary knew her mother didn't like Sebastian, she never voiced it directly. It was usually found in her snide comments. Usually Clary would get upset and storm away, but now, after she could finally view her relationship from the other side, she could see how her mom had been right all along. He barely let her see her family. He belittled her. He abused her. He _controlled _her.

"No, mom. We broke up." Clary's voice didn't waver. She didn't sniffle. It didn't hurt her that her relationship was over. It was a relief. The relationship itself hurt worse than the breakup. Her mother shot a glare at Valentine, who had grumbled _Merry Christmas to us._ Clary found herself giggling at that statement, and her mother joined in. It was true. She hadn't spent Christmas with her family since her and Sebastian had been together.

Soon, her mother was shoving spoonfuls of food into her face, asking her to try all the dishes she made for the night. As Clary humored her mother by trying the stuffing and pasta salad, she watched her brother sneak behind Jocelyn and steal a finger full of cookie frosting. Clary winked at him, continuing to mumble her approval around mouthfuls of food.

"Clary!" Jonathon finally yelled, running dramatically at her with frosting on his nose. Before he reached her, Jocelyn swiped the sugary spread and popped it into her mouth.

"Caught," she muttered as Jonathon proceeded to launch himself into Clary's arms.

"I missed you _so _much!" He squeezed tightly around her neck and chattered excitedly about how awesome Christmas dinner with the Lightwoods would be.

This invitation had come about a week ago, after Clary was sneaking in from another late night with Jace. Isabelle had made amends with her family and wanted Clary to finally meet them all. Isabelle told Clary that she could bring her family, too, and that solidified plans. Now, Jocelyn was pulling a hot apple pie from the oven and shooing Clary upstairs to her room to change. "I bought you a new dress for the evening."

She looked down at the black velvet dress she had on, inquiring what was wrong with it? "Clary, you've had it since you were twelve." Clary sighed, shuffling slowly up the steps and slipping into the tiled shower. She scrubbed her body and hair quickly, wrapping herself in a fluffy white towel before stepping out of the steam. She leaned against the basin, swiping at the reflective glass with the edge of her towel.

The girl in the mirror was a stranger as Clary combed through her damp curls. She mimicked Clary's movements—the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the downward pull of her arm as she yanked a brush through her hair. She was so familiar on the outside, characterized by the same unruly red tendrils leaping like flames from her scalp, the same bright emerald irises circumscribed by a thin ring of darker green, the same slight pink lips cut with a deep cupid's bow, the same translucent skin dusted with auburn freckles her mother used to call angel's kisses. But she was so different.

She was layered, like an old house that just kept being painted over, coat and coat, color by color, each telling a different story, a different past. Concealed beneath the familiar exterior were layers of the person she'd once been, all compiling atop one another to make her who she was today. She stopped brushing her hair and placed her palms on the countertop, bracing her weight against it as two green unblinking gazes bore into each other, each searching for the light in the other's eyes, for the window that gave way to the soul, for answers that could only be found within. Unfortunately, the Clary that was not trapped in the mirror couldn't find anything.

She knew who she'd been, even down to the deepest layer of her history, she knew the woman she was. Long ago, she'd been the girl with tangled curls, dashing through the open fields after her father's pickup truck, wanting nothing more than to drive the beaten trails through the woods with him. She'd been the girl with skinned knees and a toothy grin who never backed down from a challenge. She'd been the girl who'd punch the throttle a little harder, feeling the wind whip her cheeks as she looked to her side to see her father smiling, proud of everything she'd done. She'd been the girl that sat on her mother's lap as she painted, giggling when the colored paints and chalks decorated her skin. She'd been free and alive, so full of love and hope that she'd willingly give to anyone who needed it. She wore her heart on her sleeve and protected her eyes with a pair of rose-colored glasses, refusing to see the darkness around every corner.

That innocence was torn from beneath her when she'd met Sebastian. As soon as she lay eyes on him, she knew he was just screaming out for love. He was so bitter about the world, so pessimistic. She offered to help him see the light, and for a while, he did. When Sebastian smiled, it lit up the whole room. It made her heart flutter and her eyes dilate, and everything a body is supposed to do when a person is in love. He held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, brushed his hand lightly across her cheek like she was fragile, like she could turn to dust at any second, like he couldn't bear the thought of losing her.

When she first expressed her dissent for any sexual interaction, he was understanding. He'd kiss her cheek and promise he wouldn't push her. She'd snuggle into his chest and thank him profusely as her inside quaked in fear. Honestly, sex had scared her when she was younger. She felt that she wanted to save herself for her husband, and though she was completely and irrevocably in love with Sebastian, she wasn't sure they'd be married. Of course, Sebastian's patience ran thin, and she found him stumbling into her apartment, his breath reeking of alcohol. "Come 'ere, babe." She could still her his drunken slurs as he pushed her onto the bed, saying that he was tired of waiting, that he wanted to take her right now. She could hear her own voice, so small and afraid as she told him she wanted to wait until marriage, her body squirming to get away from his groping hands. Sebastian sneered, his unfocused eyes dancing all around her face. "I would never marry _you_." Why she hadn't broken up with him then, she didn't know.

But that brought her to the present, her new layer build over the ones of naïvetés, of meekness, of powerlessness. Her she stood, a small scowl adorning her habitually peaceful face, a series of bruises and scars marking the past she was trying to forget, an unusually hard edge to her stare. She knew what brought about this change, but she wouldn't admit it even to herself.

The past few weeks had been so perfect. Jace had touched her, held her as if she were a miracle, as if she were a beautiful relic meant to be adored. He kissed every inch of her skin, pulled her close as he kissed her lips, left her unrestrained as he thrust into her, leaving her begging for more. She'd moaned his name, something she'd never done before. She'd clung to him and melted into his embrace when it was over. And he'd stayed. Sebastian never stayed.

It scared her and exhilarated her, made her heart skip a beat while pounding heavily in fear. What did this mean? Was she falling into her old ways? Would she allow another boy to control her, to own her? She breathed out softly as she braced her weight against the countertop. It was so perfect, his face hovering comfortingly above her, dipping every so often to butterfly kisses across her face and collar bones, the way the heat of his body seeped into her as he balanced himself above her, the way his eyes roamed but always found their way back to her green ones. It was _perfect_, and she was afraid. She hated Sebastian so much at this moment. For hurting her. For raping her. For destroying her. She scowled at her reflection, keeping the tears at bay as the familiar feeling of self-loathing flooded through her. She hated Sebastian as much as she hated herself. She felt the strategically place scars on the backs of her upper thighs blaze at the thought. She was passed that stage, but at moments like these, the desire flared up again, her fingers itching to grip a blade and slice it meticulously across unmarred flesh. Maybe if she just did it once, she'd feel better—

"Clary are you almost ready?" Her mother's voice pulled her from that dark void she was slipping into. She stepped into the plum colored dress and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, giving her mother permission to enter.

Jace placed the silverware on the table, watching Maryse bustle around with the food, positioning the dishes decoratively at the center of their large, oak dining table. "Does that look alright?" She asked Isabelle, who was busy stringing lights through the cabinetry lining the edges of the room.

"Mom, it's perfect," Isabelle said, a whimsical tone in her voice. Jace had just set out the last fork when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" Isabelle disappeared around the corner in her high heels, her pleasant voice greeting the guests. Jace heard several sets of heels clattering down the hallway. Isabelle entered the room first, her silver dress twinkling like in the white lights. She was followed by a tall man with hair the color of snow. He wore a suit the same color, offset with a forest green tie. The unsettling thing about him were his eyes, black like coal. They were softened though, by laugh lines brought on by age. His arm was looped through the creamy skin of a tall, slender woman, her red curls twisted into a low bun, several escaping and framing her face. Her eyes were green, like the ones he'd looked into as he climaxed just that morning.

The hair stood up on Jace's neck as another figure approached, wearing a deep purple dress that hugged her body like a second skin. Jace didn't even have to look at her face to know who it was. He knew her body well. Every dip and rise of her skin, every sensitive spot, everything. One look into her emerald eyes only confirmed it. Her eyes widened at him, as if she hadn't expected to see him at his own family's Christmas. He shook his head lightly, dropping his gaze to his empty plate.

Clary, Isabelle's friend.

Clary, his casual sex friend.

Clary, Verlac's girlfriend.

* * *

_Muahahahaha :)_

_All My Love,_

_BallinBlonde21_


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